Ice and Fire
by Farky-fark and the Munky Bunch
Summary: A Skyrim/A Song of Ice and Fire cross-over focusing on the stories of a caravan master, a sellsword, a bard, a blacksmith, a werewolf, and, of course, the Dragonborn. Couples include Daenerys/Khal Drogo, Sandor/Sansa, and Vilkas/Arya/Gendry. May contain spoilers for all of Skyrim and up to A Dance With Dragons.
1. A Fair Trade (Dany I)

**A/N: **I'll try to make this brief. The whole idea behind this story is that, well, it's a cross-over, with (for the most part) the characters from George R. R. Martin's _A Song of Ice and Fire _series and the plot from Skyrim. There are still Skyrim characters, and plot elements from the _ASOIAF_ universe, but for the most part, it will be the other way around. I will include a chapter rating for each...umm...chapter...since some may be rated differently for different reasons. Also, I will address any other...quirks, shall we say that will appear in this story because of the borrowing from two universes when they come into play. For this one, the _ASOIAF_ fans just need to know that since there is no such thing as the Dothraki in Skyrim, Drogo speaks the Common Tongue. And I think that's it. Oh, one more thing. Yeah, I know that my title is part of GRRM's, but...I kept it because it also applies to Skyrim since Skyrim is icy, and there are dragons. Some of which breathe fire. If I think of a better title, or any of you have suggestions, then I may change it. Enjoy! Many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) **StarscreamII**. Also, for reference, here are the ages of all the main characters as all but Sandor and Drogo have been adjusted (and theirs are from GoT, meaning the first book of the series):  
**Daenerys**- 19  
**Sansa**- 17  
**Arya**- 15  
**Drogo**- 30  
**Sandor**- 28  
**Gendry**- 19

**Disclaimer:** It belongs to Bethesda and George R. R. Martin, not me. But Dar'Jazha (the Khajiit with Drogo) is an OC.

**Rating: **T for minor language and suggestive references.

* * *

The market was crowded for a Tirdas afternoon, especially one in Riften. Dany had heard about the crowded city markets in Whiterun and Solitude, but she hadn't been there since she was young, and the few memories she had didn't involve shopping.

The only reason today was different was because of a visiting trade caravan. That was also the reason Viserys had even allowed her to go to the market. Usually he didn't like the thought of men leering at her out in public, and if she was permitted access to the more highly populated areas of the city, he went with.

But today...today she was alone, and it was strangely freeing. Even though it was only because her brother had sent her out on an errand, she still felt marginally rebellious. And she was planning on spending a good deal of the gold he'd grudgingly lent her. But first, she had something she needed to do.

"We have silks! The finest silks from the Summerset Isle! Steel from Hammerfell! Gems from Elsweyr! All at a fair price!"

The Khajiit calling out his list of goods smiled widely when Daenerys approached and looked at the items in mention. He appraised her as she did his wares and flicked his long grey tail. "The lady comes to buy, yes? Perhaps some sapphires? Amethysts to match the lady's eyes?" He held out a few and looked at her quizzically. "The lady likes what she sees, yes?"

Dany nodded absentmindedly, but it wasn't the gems she was looking toward. Her eyes had landed on the man standing behind the peddler. He was a tall light skinned Redguard with dark almond shaped eyes and a long black braid that fell well past his waist. His face was void of any expression and when he met her gaze, she quickly looked back down. The Khajiit caught her glance and gave her a sly smirk.

"The lady likes something we are not selling, yes? That is Khal Drogo. He's the owner of our humble caravan." It was far from humble. In fact, it was the largest trade caravan in Skyrim, and Khal Drogo himself had quite the reputation. He nodded in her direction and she smiled politely, willing herself not to show her fear of the tall, muscular, strangely alluring man.

"My brother, Jarl Viserys Targaryen, would like to make an arrangement with your caravan, sers. I am here to discuss terms of negotiation."

Drogo crossed his arms and broke his silence with a snort. "If your brother wants to discuss terms of negotiation, he can get his arse off his throne and come himself." His voice was deep and thick with an accent she didn't recognize.

Dany paled slightly. If she told Viserys that, she'd have a new bruise to add to the rest. Khal Drogo narrowed his eyes when he saw her reaction and he stepped out from behind the stand, moving to her side.

"I will accompany you to the palace. But he will speak to me himself."

Dany was grateful that he would be there, but at the same time, it sent nervous flutters through her stomach. She looked up at him—he had to be at least a foot taller than she was—and smiled weakly. "If that's what you wish, I'm sure my brother will be willing to meet with you."

Drogo just nodded and turned to his partner. "I'll be back before nightfall. And if I'm not, come and help me get away before the people realize their Jarl's head has left his shoulders."

The Khajiit smiled and bowed low. "As the Khal commands."

Turning, Drogo looked down at Dany, his handsome face a blank mask to hide all emotion. "Come."

* * *

"You dare to command me?!" Viserys' face had turned a strange hue between red and purple in his rage and he glared up at the huge Redguard from an unintimidating height.

"Yes." Drogo said drily, arms crossed over his broad chest. "And if you want the services of my caravan, I expect payment of some kind. Up front."

The younger man clenched his fist, and made to strike the caravan master, but a disapproving look from the target changed his mind and he sank back down on his throne with a scowl. "What is it you want then? Gold? Property? I can make you a knight. Or a lord. Steward maybe. Ask and it shall be yours."

Khal Drogo raised his eyebrows and made a show of looking about the throne room before turning his gaze back to the pouting Jarl. _"Anything?"_

"Yes, yes. Anything."

"Can we talk?" He briefly cast his eyes down toward Daenerys. "Alone?"

There was a moment of silence as Viserys looked between his sister and their guest. "Alright. Daenerys, go to your room. I'll come to you later."

Nodding, she curtseyed to each of them and walked off, rounding the corner and heading for her chambers. When she got there, she sat down on her bed and absentmindedly smoothed the sheets. She could hear them talking downstairs in raised voices. From the sound of it, Khal Drogo was having trouble getting what he wanted. Whatever that could be, Dany couldn't seem to fathom. He was the owner of the largest and most prosperous caravan in the country, he obviously had the power to bend any Jarl to his will, and his prowess in battle was known well enough to keep him safe from any interference from either side of the civil war.

The voices below had gone silent and a moment later there was a knock on the door. Standing up, she smoothed out her dress and went to answer it. As expected, Viserys was standing outside when the heavy oak door swung aside and he strode in, kicking the door shut again behind him.

"What is it that he wanted?"

"A wife."

Dany was certain she heard him wrong. It seemed improbable that a man like Drogo would have any trouble finding himself a wife.

"And he thought you had one for him?"

Viserys eyes raked over her body and she shifted uncomfortably beneath his gaze.

"He thought I wanted to make sure they stayed loyal. And he was right."

Dany got the sickening feeling that she knew where this was headed. She decided to stay silent.

"He wanted someone...exotic. Someone he couldn't find just anywhere." His lilac eyes narrowed and met hers. "Someone like the last Targaryen woman."

For a moment, Dany forgot how to breathe.

"He'll be here for you tomorrow morning. See that you're ready." He stalked closer and looked at her through eyes barely wider than slits. "Please him, Dany. If you don't, you'll be sorry you didn't." His hand clamped down on her arm and his nails dug into the flesh, drawing blood as she stared at him with wide eyes. Before she could think of the right words to plead with him to change his mind, he released her and sauntered out, his words leaving a thick atmosphere of despair in their wake.

How was this happening? Her own brother had practically just sold her to a complete stranger. Even if it hadn't been entirely his idea, that didn't make it any better. As much as she feared her brother and his abuse, she felt marginally safe within the castle walls, and not only was Khal Drogo fearsome and intimidating but, she knew nothing of his ways. He might use her as a slave, or even worse, share her with his men and pass her around to warm their beds at night.

Closing the door, she climbed into her bed and huddled beneath the sheets as the tears began to fall, her shoulders shaking with each helpless sob. She had never felt so weak in her entire life. Powerless to do much else, she laced her fingers together and took a shaky breath, sending a fervent prayer up to Stendarr that she wouldn't be delivered from one hell to another.

* * *

When Daenerys was roused the next morning, it was not by her brother. Instead, it was his steward that stood outside her door. Jorah Mormont was a middle aged man who had only been working for Viserys for a few months, but in that time had proved his loyalty to the Targaryens and risen quickly through the Jarl's staff. He was also one of the few people who had ever shown Dany any kindness.

"Your Grace," he said with a low bow, giving Dany an unhindered view of his steadily receding hairline. "Khal Drogo awaits you in the throne room."

Dany had spent most of the night awake, turning fitfully beneath her sheets as sleep eluded her, so when she finally declared it a vain effort, she had packed her things and dressed in her finest gown: a long thin dress of lavender silk that brought out the color of her eyes. She seemed ready when Mormont came, but was no more prepared for what was to come than the night before.

"Is my brother waiting to see me off?"

Jorah hesitated for a moment then shook his head. "No, my lady. His Grace has not yet risen this morning and made certain that no one was to wake him even if you left during his rest."

Viserys never failed to extend every kindness to her.

"Then you'll be seeing me down?"

This time Mormont nodded, though his face betrayed his loyalty. "Daenerys...if you don't want this marriage—"

Dany turned away to retrieve her things; she didn't want him to see her tears. "Jarl Viserys is my elder brother. I am his to give if he so desires."

Jorah Mormont nodded again, but he still looked troubled. "As you say, Your Grace." He lifted her small satchel of belongings and carried it downstairs to where Khal Drogo stood by the far wall, scrutinizing one of the tapestries that hung in the throne room.

He turned when he heard their footsteps and silently looked over his soon to be bride before turning his gaze to her things. "Is that everything?"

She nodded and lowered her eyes respectfully, giving a shallow curtsey. "Yes, my..." she faltered and the man before her allowed a very brief smile to grace his features.

"Just Drogo will do."

When a moment of silence followed, Drogo gave Jorah a look of dismissal and he hesitated only briefly before bowing to Dany and placing a lingering kiss on her hand.

"Riften will miss you, my lady. And I as well."

He left without further discourse and Daenerys stood before her betrothed, trembling slightly from the cool breeze that floated through the windows, or the icy grip of terror on her heart; she wasn't sure which.

Drogo sighed and took her belongings. "Our caravan awaits."

The caravan was still set up when they approached and the traders and families that belonged to it scurried about, all preparing for the wedding that would be held that evening. The Khajiit from the market the day before approached them. "Has the Khal gotten what he wanted?"

Drogo stepped aside to reveal Daenerys standing meekly behind him.

The Khajiit smiled. "He has, yes. Then welcome to the caravan, lady. You are welcome. And glad to be here, yes?"

Dany looked around and put on a forced smile. It seemed that the eyes of every man, woman, and child that stood gathered nearby were fixed on her. "Yes."

Bowing low, the peddler curled his tail around one paw and grinned broadly. "We are glad to have you."

Drogo nodded in agreement and gave Daenerys the first true smile she'd seen. "If there's anything you need, just come and ask. I'm never too far away." That was reassuring.

For the first time that morning, she felt something other than fear and she looked up toward Khal Drogo. "Thank you." Her husband-to-be smiled and briefly placed a large hand on her shoulder before leaving her with his partner and wandering through his caravan, barking orders at people as he passed.

The feline beside her offered a toothy grin with sharpened teeth and his voice came out as a smooth purr. "We are truly honored to have you, lady, yes. And you have a wedding to prepare for. Dar'Jazha suggests you stay close to our Khal until then, yes...we wouldn't want the other men getting any ideas..." His grin widened and his eyes glinted as he stalked off to leave Dany alone with his warning. If that was any indication, it seemed her prayers to Stendarr had gone unheard.


	2. The Children of Skyrim (Sansa I)

**A/N: **I will not be posting this frequently in the future, I am sorry to say. It's just that I already have the first six done, and I want to stay four chapters ahead of my posts, which is where I am, so...yeah. Umm...with the description of the man who will only be known as of now by the ASOIAF fans, I did not write it. I took it from George R. R. Martin because I liked it and didn't want to try and paraphrase it. I take no credit for it. Many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) **StarscreamII**.

**Disclaimer: **It's Bethesda's and George R. R. Martin's, not mine.

**Rating: **T for suggestive themes.

* * *

_"We're the children of Skyrim, and we fight all our lives._

_And when Sovngarde beckons, every one of us dies!_

_But this land is ours and we'll see it wiped clean._

_Of the scourge that has sullied our hopes and dreams."_

Sansa Stark finished her song and smiled graciously at the applause, giving a proper curtsey to the man who'd requested it. She made to set her lute down when she heard a low rasping voice from the table behind her.

"How much for a song?"

The man was facing away from her, and was sitting in the shadows besides; all she could see of his face was a brief glimpse of his left jaw every time the mug of ale he had traveled from his lips to the table. Something about it didn't look right, but she was polite enough not to stare.

"Five gold, please. What song would you like, ser?"

"I'm not a ser," the man snarled, his voice laced with acid. "And it doesn't matter. You choose."

Sansa raised her eyebrows and lifted her lute again; hesitating for only a moment before playing the beginning notes of Ragnar the Red. It had been a few nights since she'd sang it last, and since she didn't know if the man supported the Legion or the Stormcloaks, it was better to just pass on the Age of Oppression and Age of Aggression.

_"There once was a hero named Ragnar the Red, who came riding to Whiterun from ole Rorikstead!" _Cheers went up from a few of the drunker men and the ones who were feeling gracious tossed coins in her direction. _"And the braggart did swagger and brandish his blade, as he told of bold battles and gold he had made!" _She couldn't tell if the man who'd asked her to sing was enjoying the jaunty tune, but as Tyrion always liked to remind her, 'they're usually too drunk to really appreciate it anyway. It only matters if you get the coin.' _"But then he went quiet, did Ragnar the Red, when he met the shieldmaiden Matilda who said..." _Sansa had always harbored mixed emotions toward Matilda; the fierce shieldmaiden reminded her of her younger sister._ "Oh, you talk and you lie and you drink all our mead! Now I think it's high time that you lie down and bleed!_"

"Aye! Get him Matilda!" Shae, one of the working girls in the tavern, led the cry. The man on whose lap she was perched seconded the motion and within seconds most of the inn's guests had joined in with shouts of their own.

Sansa stifled a giggle. One of the best parts of working in a tavern was watching the patrons when they drank too much; so long as they weren't the ones who tried to reach their hands down her dress. Shae and Dancy did their best to keep them entertained, but every night there were a few who decided to try their luck with the pretty young bard.

_"And so then came the clashing and slashing of steel, as the brave lass Matilda charged in full of zeal!  
And the braggart named Ragnar was boastful no moooooree... when his ugly red head rolled around on the floor!"_

By the last verse, most of the guests had joined in—rather loudly, and with a great deal of slurring— and when she finished, the applause was nearly deafening. It seemed Tyrion hadn't been reserved with the wine tonight. Sansa smiled and extended her lute, nodding her thanks to each man who dropped a septim or two inside of it. Once they'd returned to their drinks, she turned and waited politely behind the man who'd requested the song. His shoulders rose and fell in a sigh and he turned toward her.

The right side of his face was gaunt, with sharp cheekbones and a grey eye beneath a heavy brow. His nose was large and hooked, his hair thin, dark. He wore it long and brushed it sideways, because no hair grew on the other side of that face.

The left side of his face was a ruin. His ear had been burned away; there was nothing left but a hole. His eye was still good, but all around it was a twisted mass of scar, slick black flesh hard as leather, pocked with craters and fissured by deep cracks that gleamed red and wet when he moved. Down by his jaw, she could see a hint of bone where the flesh had been seared away.

Sansa let out a quiet gasp then blushed in embarrassment. The man snorted and his lips twisted into a scowl, the left side twitching once; twice. "Do I scare you, girl?"

"N-No..."

He grunted and turned back to his ale. "You're a terrible liar. But I didn't ask you to lie, I asked you to sing. Here." Pressing a few gold coins into her palm, he downed his ale in one gulp and stood, walking off toward his room without another word.

Sansa watched him go then sashayed through the crowd and over to the bar, looking down at her master: the innkeeper. He was a dwarf; stunted by birth, shunned by most men, and while he was hideous to look at, he had the wits to rival those of a court fool. The Imp—as men liked to call him—had owned King's Landing Inn for most of his life, and Sansa had worked there for the past few months. He was kind, and he paid well, so she had no complaint.

"He was a strange fellow wasn't he?" Tyrion asked, following her gaze to the mysterious burned man. "Do you think he got those burns fighting a dragon?" His mismatched eyes—one green, one black—glinted mischievously and his lips curled into what might have been considered a grin.

Shae sauntered up behind Tyrion and bent over to wrap her arms loosely around his neck, purring beside his ear. "Maybe he was a knight. He was saving a fair maid from one of those fearsome beasts. He must be brave to have made it out alive. But when the fight was over, he was so hideously ugly that she ran away, for with the burns, he was even more fearsome than the dragon had ever been. Maybe she even decided to take the dragon as her lover over that one." The exotic whore seemed to like that idea.

Tyrion raised his eyebrows and his grin turned to a frown. "Not all fair maids run away from us grotesques. I seem to recall one running _to_ me last night in fact, though not free of charge."

Shae grinned wickedly and whispered something in his ear while Sansa blushed and averted her gaze. "You both know as well as everyone else that dragons don't exist anymore. He probably just got in a fight with a reckless mage." From the conglomeration of armor he'd been wearing and the worn sword at his hip, she could tell he was a mercenary, though she'd never seen him before in the tavern. She would've remembered a man like him.

Tyrion saw her unsuccessful attempt to stifle a yawn and looked over at the handful of drunken patrons. "I think the rush has passed, sweetling. Go get some sleep."

Sansa nodded her thanks and went to her room, glancing at the one next to her as she passed. There was no sound from behind the door, only silence and she frowned, but knew better than to pry into the private business of their guests.

After closing the door, she plopped down on her bed and pulled the book out from under her pillow. She had attended the Bard's College before travelling to King's Landing and after being passed by Inge Six Fingers and Giraud Gemane, the latter had given her a few books of old songs and poems, expressing his wish for her to put them to music and spread them throughout the inns and taverns of Skyrim.

Sansa had always wanted to be a bard. She and her siblings were born in Winterhold, but when her father Lord Eddard Stark had been appointed steward to the High King, he had taken her and her younger sister Arya with him to Solitude. She studied at the college for hours on end while Arya spent her days in the training yard with a foreign dancing master their father had hired. Now she was the only one who remained nearby after Lord Eddard's death; all her siblings had scattered.

Sighing, she sat up against her pillow, propped her lute across her lap and set _The Battle of Molag Beran_ against her knee. Picking up where she left off, she ran her fingers across the strings and sang softly,

_"The guard of House Retheran_

_Were bright arrayed for battle._

_They came in pride, in columns wide,_

_But ran like frightened cattle."_

The second refrain never seemed to sound as good as the first and she furrowed her brow, shifting octaves as she tried again. No matter how hard she tried to concentrate on the notes that flowed softly through the air, her mind kept returning to the man in the next room over.

_How could he have gotten those burns? Perhaps Tyrion was right…there are rumours about the return of dragons in Skyrim, but as far as everyone knows, they're only that; rumours. Maybe he _was_ trying to rescue some fair maiden. And maybe his love _was_ scorned because of his burns. Perhaps that's why he seemed so bitter and angry. _She caught herself and shook her head. It was rude to assume things about a man she'd never met before. Then again, it would also be rude to assume things about a man she'd known her whole life.

That was the other thing…most of the patrons who came to King's Landing were regulars, but this one had been a new arrival. Sellswords were common enough, but it seemed that a man like that would've brought whispers with him, and she'd heard nothing regarding a mysterious stranger with burns across half of his face. At least, not that she knew of.

Her fingers strummed a chord and she tried a second time, taking a deep breath to clear her head.

_"The guard of House Retheran_

_Were bright arrayed for battle..."_

_The way he looked at me...the anger in his voice, and in his eyes too. But there was something else, too. It was like the looks the men give Shae and Dancy and Alayaya. But there was more...hunger to it._

Sansa shivered and set aside her lute and the book of poetry. Burrowing under the blankets, she pulled them up to her chin and closed her eyes. No matter how hard she tried to forget them, the man's scars were as burned into her mind as they were on his face. She slowly drifted off into a fitful sleep, but her last thought was not one of Molag Beran and the Dunmer.

_I should've asked him his name..._


	3. Accursed Blood (Arya I)

**A/N: **Again, wasn't expecting to update this soon, but I managed to finish another chapter, so I'm still at the rate I want to be and therefore, you guys get another chapter to read. So...notes for this one...umm...well, for those of you who aren't familiar with the _A Song of Ice and Fire _universe, the age of womanhood is considerably younger than it is for us today. Therefore, it would not be weird for a girl in her early to mid teens to be in a sexual relationship. Well, not like it's not happening these days, but it's not frowned upon in their time period. And then, for those of you who aren't familiar with Skyrim, there will be some things that will be unclear, but I promise that they'll be explained later on. Enjoy! Many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) **StarscreamII**.

**Disclaimer: **Not mine. Everything is Bethesda's and GRRM's except for Jed. He's based off of my first PC in Skyrim.

**Rating: **M for language and implied sexuality.

* * *

"Arya!"

Taking her focus off of her training partner for a moment, Arya Stark glanced up to see the recently appointed Harbinger of the Companions standing beside one of the long tables under the balcony by the training yard. Her two second break in concentration earned her Vilkas' sword at her throat and she glared at him out of the corner of her eye.

"Vilkas, let her go. I need to speak with her."

The older of the two resident twins slid his sword back into the belt at his hips and gave the young Nord an amused look. "What did you do this time?"

"Nothing," Arya grumbled, replacing her own weapon and rubbing the spot of blood off her neck. "And I'll get you back for that."

"I'd like to see you try."

Before she could respond, she heard the Harbinger call to her again and she threw one last nasty look in Vilkas' direction before walking over to the leader of the Companions.

Kodlak's replacement was a young, stern Imperial known only as Jed. The general consensus was that his lack of a house name was somehow related to a former run-in with the law. Aela had yet to report her findings on the matter. Unlike his predecessor, he was a thin man, but strong, with sharp features, dark eyes, and thick black hair that was styled into an impressive mohawk.

After Jed's promotion—once he'd 'cured' himself of his lycanthropy and taken Aela as his wife— Arya had claimed his former spot in The Circle. The feisty huntress he'd married became pregnant suspiciously fast, but still refused to cure herself despite her husband's urging. About a week later, Farkas had chosen to follow the path of their Harbinger in order to protect his own new bride from that aspect of his now former life. Vilkas highly recommended that his twin rethink the decision, but Farkas was stubborn, adamant, and in love. With The Circle short two members, Vilkas and Aela turned to Arya Stark, a promising new recruit who was soon added to their dwindling number, receiving the coveted spot and all its added benefits.

"Yes, Jed?"

"I need you to go get a shipment of weapons from the Skyforge. Give them to Vilkas when you get back; or Farkas if you find him first." Arya was one of the few people who were able to tell the twins apart, so she knew she'd have no trouble finding the eldest upon her return.

She frowned and was about to retort when Jed lifted a hand and gave her a disapproving look. "I know that you're a part of The Circle now, but you're still a young recruit. It does fall to you to do the errands on occasion, whether you like it or no."

"Does the little she-wolf need a lesson in respecting her elders?" Vilkas stalked up and sent a barely imperceptible smirk in her direction. "I can punish her as need be." Even though most of the Companions knew about them, Arya thanked the gods that that sounded like something he would say to any young recruit.

A bright blush crept up Arya's neck and she glowered at the Nord, earning a toothy grin in return.

Jed's deep green eyes flicked between them and a flicker of what might have been amusement briefly crossed his face. "No, Vilkas, that won't be necessary. She needs only to pick up our latest weapon shipment. You know what to do with them when she returns."

The younger man nodded and turned back to Arya when their leader had left.

"Weapons?"

"I'm part of The Circle now, and he's still treating me like new blood!"

"That's because he doesn't know you as well as I do..." Vilkas glanced around before pulling her to him and nuzzling his face against her hair. "Just do as he asks so you can be back in time to hunt. The moons are nearly full tonight."

Arya nodded against his chest and fingered the wolf's head on his armor, smiling up at him, her barely sharpened teeth peeking out from beneath thin lips. "And it's been too long."

Her comrade nodded in agreement and gave her a grin that showed off his impressive fangs. "Aye. Now go on. I'll be right here when you get back."

Pulling away, Arya turned and made her way up the steps to the Skyforge, her mind on anything but skyforge steel. When she and Vilkas had first met, he and his twin had both agreed that being moons-born was a curse, but between the time that they had started a relationship beyond that of merely comrades and when Jed discovered the cure for their lycanthropy, she had managed to change his mind. It certainly made their interactions more interesting.

She could hear the sound of the forge before she spotted its master, so she called out in his general direction to announce her presence. "Eorlund! It's Arya Stark, for the weapons you apparently promised to Jorrvaskr."

When she reached the top of the stairs, she was surprised to see that the aging Nord blacksmith had been replaced by a young Imperial who, if she had to guess, appeared to be about nineteen. He was tall and built, with broad shoulders, short, shaggy black hair and bright blue eyes.

"Oh..."

The man looked up and smiled charmingly. "Arya Stark I presume? Here for the weapons that Eorlund apparently promised to Jorrvaskr?"

Arya nodded mutely.

"I'm Gendry Waters, Eorlund's new apprentice." His smile was friendly, and the sweat dripping from his body made the thin shirt he was wearing cling to his muscular chest. "I guess you're one of the Companions then? I've only ever met Athis before. I'm glad to see they sent someone a little more friendly this time."

The mention of a name she recognized brought Arya out of her muscle induced reverie and she could feel herself blushing. "Yes. He does take some getting used to."

They stood for a moment in silence as Gendry appraised his company and Arya cleared her throat when she began to feel uncomfortable.

"You have some weapons for me?"

The blacksmith nodded and gestured toward a pile of steel sitting on the edge of the forge. "It's all right there."

_Vilkas won't like this new apprentice_, Arya thought to herself as she went to pick up the assorted items. They fit a bit awkwardly in her thin arms and she turned back around with some effort, dropping a sword on her way toward the stone steps and cursing under her breath.

She could hear Gendry Waters laughing behind her and he moved forward to retrieve the fallen blade, taking a few others from her arms to lighten the load. "Let me help you."

"I can get—"

"Don't be daft. I'll get a few and that'll save you a trip or two up and down these stairs."

Arya gave him a defiant look then mumbled her thanks when she realized there was no viable reason to refuse his help. They made their way carefully back down to the Companion guild hall and just as he'd said, Vilkas was waiting right where she'd left him when they entered the training yard. The Nord stared suspiciously at the apprentice blacksmith through narrowed eyes and got an equally distrustful look in return.

"Who are you?"

"Gendry Waters. Apprentice to Eorlund. And you?"

"Vilkas."

Arya didn't like the reaction they were having to one another so she let the weapons in her arms clatter to the ground as she took the ones Gendry had and gave him a dismissive smile.

"Thank you for your help."

The Imperial looked back at her and nodded. "Of course. I suppose I'll see you around, then?"

Smiling thinly, Arya nodded and placed the tips of her fingers against Vilkas' arm as a silent warning. "I suppose so."

Even after the younger man had left, Vilkas continued to glare in the direction he'd gone and Arya sighed, turning his head in her direction.

"He's gone, now."

Her fellow Companion sniffed and turned to face her, trailing one of his nails lightly down her arm. "I don't like him."

_You just don't like the way he looks at me._ "I can't imagine why. All he did was help me get those down the steps."

"He's an Imperial. For all we know, he could be a spy for the Empire."

Arya couldn't help laughing quietly as she put her arms around his waist. "You're too distrustful for your own good. And besides, the Companions have made sure to stay out of the Civil War, so it wouldn't make a difference even if he was."

"Aye, but did you tell him your name?"

She nodded.

"So he knows that they're led by your brother. Stark is not a well-liked name in this city. You're with the Stormcloaks through association even if you're not in their army or fighting their battles."

Arya scowled. "I'm not with the Stormcloaks. Or with the Starks. Robb may be second in command to the namesake of their cause and the killer of the king, but Ulfric's not the one they look to as their leader." When she realized that she wasn't helping her own case, she added, "...and that doesn't concern me."

Vilkas frowned. "Be that as it may, you're still the Young Wolf's sister. Be careful; that's all I'm asking."

_Aye, his youngest sister. And what's happened to the eldest? Knowing Sansa she's probably married to some lord or knight and raising their five children as we speak. _"Alright." She looked up toward the darkening sky and smiled at the sight of the rising moons. "But for now, to Oblivion with caution."

Following her gaze, Vilkas couldn't help but grin and he pulled away from her. "Go make sure Jed knows you've done as he asked while I put these away. I'll meet you in our usual spot. And make sure the guards don't see you." Aela had been seen the last time she'd hunted, and her husband was none too happy to hear that she'd killed the witness to keep him silent.

Arya nodded again and opened the door to Jorrvaskr, smiling when she was greeted by the warmth of the fires and friendly cries of welcome from the people seated at the long tables for their supper.

"Somebody get some mead for the little she-wolf!" Athis called out toward the serving women, tossing an empty tankard in her direction. Vilkas' affectionate nickname for her had quickly caught on, and now it was almost as commonly used as her given name.

Smiling wider, she caught the mug and walked over, accepting a drink which she downed before slamming the tankard in front of the Dunmer. "Sorry Athis, but I can't stay. I have places to be tonight."

Smirking, he added lowly, "Things to do? Send Vilkas our regards."

Arya grinned and snagged a piece of cheese from Athis' plate. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"I'm sure..." Jed repeated incredulously, looking up at the young Nord from where he was seated between Aela and Athis. "Is it done?"

Nodding, Arya took a drink of Farkas' ale and handed it back with a smirk. "Delivered and given to Vilkas, yes."

"Then go on. Enjoy yourself, but be careful."

"The night is dark and full of terrors." Ria warned ominously.

Arya laughed and sauntered toward the exit. "Aye. And I'm one of them."

Making her way through the nearly empty streets of Whiterun, Arya lifted her head and took a deep breath. The evening air was crisp and cool and the scent of pine carried on the breeze along with the lure of the night's hunt. She could almost taste the salty, metallic flavor of blood on her tongue as she inhaled. When she reached the hollowed out rock that she'd discovered a few weeks prior, she stripped off her armor and the clothing beneath, looking down at her body for a moment in disappointed contemplation.

A scrawny girl of fifteen years, Arya was graced with none of her older sister Sansa's beauty or poise, instead receiving their father's long somber face and their brothers' love of fighting. She had thin brown hair that was cut short, light grey eyes and limbs that were long and bony, jutting out at awkward angles. She'd inherited the Stark look as opposed to that of the Tullies as her four other siblings had. The only other one who looked like her father was her bastard brother Jon Snow, and even he had turned out far more handsome than she was beautiful.

Much like Aela, Arya loved the power she had outside of her human form and something about the adrenaline that raced through her veins during the hunt made her feel more alive than she ever had before.

Quieting her thoughts, she let her beast-blood take over, sending a long howl up to the moons before loping off into the forest. The earth churned beneath her claws as she ran and the wind ruffled her fur, whistling through the trees around her as she returned the call of some of her wild brothers. A deer she'd caught the scent of darted out from between the trees and she lowered down to all fours, sprinting after her prey as it fled in a blind panic. She was just preparing to leap when Vilkas came snarling out of the tree line and took it down, claws glinting in the moonlight as they tore through flesh and bone.

Arya narrowed her grey eyes and knocked him away from the corpse, swiping at his shoulder when he growled. She found herself on her back beneath him and she spat, snarling angrily as he effortlessly pinned her to the forest floor. The look of amusement in his pale blue eyes made her double her efforts and she sent him tumbling down, biting at his throat and nipping playfully at one of his ears. He managed to get back to his feet and swatted her on the head, lumbering over to their meal and ripping a bloody chunk of meat off its haunch. Prowling over to join him, Arya ate eagerly, tearing off strips of flesh and gnawing at the bones once the majority of the deer had been eaten.

Since the feeding of animals did nothing to prolong the duration of a transformation, Arya could feel her human mind slipping back in and she started off toward their destination before she ended up naked and unarmed in the middle of the forest.

She could hear Vilkas following behind and by the time her own footsteps grew soft and her now bare feet padded across the wet ground, she heard the same from her companion. Vilkas remained strangely quiet as they walked, and when they reached the cave that they'd claimed as their meeting place, the silence continued.

Stepping into the warm darkness of the cavern, Arya pushed Vilkas against the wall and tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling his head down to meet her lips. The kiss she got in return was lacking its usual passion and when she pulled away, her lover looked troubled.

"Vilkas...what is it?"

He sighed and furrowed his brow, putting one hand on her hip and running his thumb absentmindedly along her stomach. "Eorlund's new apprentice…the Imperial, Waters,"

When he hesitated, Arya smiled teasingly and pressed up against him, kissing his jaw. "You're just jealous." One eyebrow rose and she could feel his heartbeat quicken against her bare chest, but he made no move to reciprocate her advances.

"Arry, listen to me. Before I met up with you, I ran into a group of hunters. Or...so I thought, before one drew his sword."

Arya's sharpened canines sank into his bottom lip and she slid her hands slowly down his torso. "And...? Was he there to fight you in order to win my affection?" Her voice lowered to a whisper and she kissed him again, a smirk playing across her lips. "Because you know that I'm yours..."

Vilkas met her gaze and stopped the path of her hands before they reached their target. "No. It's worse than that. Arya, he's part of the Silver Hand."


	4. The Fear of Safety (Drogo I)

**A/N: **Alrighty. Got another chapter done so yay! And here's one for you since there's one for me...it's all fair; see? That totally rhymed. Anyway...umm...so...yeah, for the _ASOIAF_ fans, the post-wedding will sound familiar. That's because it's directly based off of Dany and Drogo's wedding in _A Game of Thrones_ (the book, not the show). Waaaaaiiiitttt...whhaaaaat...? Yeah, I know, crazy right. Totally bonkers. BUT...I did not write their wedding night because George did that so amazingly and I didn't even want to try to match what he did. If that disappoints you, I am sorry. Truly, I am. And finally, for those of you who are Skyrim fans, _khal _and _khaleesi _actually do have a meaning in their own universe. It's king and queen-respectively-in Dothraki, which is the language Drogo speaks. Many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) **StarscreamII**.

**Disclaimer: **The wedding ceremony is not mine. It's Bethesda's. And the involved parties belong to either Bethesda or GRRM. Those people are not me and I am not them. But Dar'Jahza is mine.

**Rating: **M for implied sexuality and references to alcohol.

* * *

"Friends, family, acquaintances; we thank you for coming here today for the joining of a man and woman by the love of our mother Mara through the mouth of her most humble servant." Maramal smiled to himself and withdrew one of his hands from within the sleeves of his brown robe, gesturing toward the Jarl who stood by the doors.

Viserys nodded curtly and opened the nearest of the two, leaving briefly before reappearing with Daenerys at his side.

"Ah, here's the blushing bride now. Let's begin the ceremony."

Drogo sneaked a look over his shoulder at his soon to be wife as she walked up the short aisle beside her brother. Her eyes were fixed on the floor, but even without a full view of her face, she was still beautiful. New silks had been purchased for the occasion and they trailed a few feet behind her as she walked, pale and delicate against the hard wood floor.

When she reached Drogo's side, Viserys released her arm and the caravan master heard him hiss lowly in her ear. "Make him happy, Dany."

The young woman looked up at her betrothed and he met her gaze in an attempt to ease her fears, earning only a nervous look in return. Maramal, on the other hand, beamed happily at the couple and raised his hands as he began the ceremony.

"It was Mara who first gave birth to all of creation and pledged to watch over us as her children. It is from her love of us that we first learned to love one another. It is from this love that we learn that a life lived alone is no life at all. We gather here today, under Mara's loving gaze, to bear witness to the union of two souls in eternal companionship. May they journey forth together in this life and the next, in prosperity and poverty, and in joy and hardship. Do you agree to be bound together, in love, now and forever?" The priest directed his question at Drogo who turned to face Daenerys before giving his reply.

"I do. Now and forever."

"And you, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, do you agree to be bound together, in love, now and forever?"

She looked up at Drogo with thinly veiled fear and her answer left her lips at a barely audible whisper. "I do. Now and forever."

"Then under the authority of Mara, the Divine of Love, I declare this couple to be wed." Maramal allowed time for applause before continuing. "I present the two of you with these matching rings, blessed by Mara's divine grace." Another priest delivered the rings and the guests responded appropriately to the exchange. Daenerys moved to pull her hand away after the ring was slipped on her finger, but Drogo enveloped it in his own and held it as she gazed at him with marginal confusion.

"May they protect each of you in your new life together." Maramal smiled and touched his hand to the couple's entwined fingers. "I hope you two can be happy together."

_As do I. _Drogo cupped his new bride's cheek with his free hand and leaned down to press a gentle kiss against her lips. She hesitantly returned it and her pale cheeks were tinted a pretty shade of red when they pulled apart.

They left the temple and the guests behind and reentered the relative quiet of the Riften streets. The peace would only last as long as it took to get out the gates; the caravan waiting outside would offer no reprieve until the moon came up.

"I should warn you, milady, that the festivities are far from over. The caravan is anxious to welcome you; and many will use this as an excuse to get unlawfully drunk." Daenerys shot him a worried glance and he absentmindedly spun his wedding band around his finger. "Don't be concerned, I promise I won't leave your side."

As expected, the entirety of Khal Drogo's caravan was settled outside the Riften stables and Dar'Jazha sauntered over when he caught sight of them.

"Congratulations are in order, yes?" He shamelessly raised the bottle of skooma in his paw. "To our new Khaleesi. Come; you will join us now, yes?"

Drogo nodded and followed his appointed lieutenant, slowing his pace when he noticed that Daenerys was lingering behind.

"What does Khal mean?" she asked quietly. "And Khaleesi? Is that Khajiiti for something?"

Drogo shrugged. "I don't think so. I'm fairly confident that Dar'Jazha just created it to sound exotic and intimidating. It works, so I haven't discouraged it."

A very slight smile tugged at the young woman's lips and her new husband looked down at her with a frown. The lavender silks she was wearing brought out the color of her eyes, but despite the awkward efforts of the Redguard man, there was still an undeniable haze of trepidation in them. He had hoped taking her from her brother would change that.

The swarm of merchants, peddlers, guards, wives, concubines, and yelling children that ran up to the couple nearly threatened to break them apart, but Drogo stayed true to his word, pushing his way through the crowd in order to stay beside his bride.

"They all love me..." Daenerys said in awe, staring out at the sea of smiling faces and reaching hands.

"As they should. You're essentially their queen now. Who needs Elisif the Fair when the fairest maid in Tamriel is standing before them?"

She blushed and Drogo couldn't help but wonder if it was in response to the compliment or the fact that he'd called her a maid. Perhaps that was the only reason she still seemed afraid. Any young woman would be terrified of their wedding night if they had been married off to a stranger. Yes, that must be it. He'd try his best to ease her fears when the time came.

"I...that was very kind of you."

Drogo looked down at her with an unreadable expression. "I meant it." Taking her gently by the elbow, he led her toward the platform that had been set up and adorned with flowers for the newly married couple.

Sitting down on her right, he waved for some wine and watched Daenerys out of the corner of his eye as she took in the caravan around them.

As the festivities went on, Daenerys was polite enough to take the food that was offered, and she sipped on a glass of wine to avoid conversation, but showed no signs of increased comfort. It wasn't until it was time for the giving of the bridal gifts at sunset that she interacted with the guests at all.

"They aren't much, milady, but I hope you can enjoy them." Jorah Mormont knelt down before her and handed her a small stack of well-worn books that she took with a genuine smile.

"Thank you, ser. It was very kind of you to give me something so close to your own heart. Will you be joining the caravan with us when we leave?"

Mormont shook his head. "No, milady. My place is here at your brother's side. It would be an honor to serve you, but I fear that I cannot. My apologies."

"That's alright," Daenerys said with a smile, putting her hand over the knight's. "Serve my brother well, Ser Jorah, and you'll be serving me."

He nodded and stepped back to allow Dar'Jazha to approach the newlyweds.

The Khajiit walked forward with a confident swagger and he bowed low when he reached Drogo and his bride. "For our new Khaleesi, Dar'Jazha has exotic and enchanted weapons. We wouldn't want any harm to come to you. These will keep you safe...yes. As will your husband."

At her feet he laid an intricately carved ebony bow, a whip with a dragonbone handle and a curved sword made of blue glass.

"May they protect you in this cold and inhospitable land."

Drogo could agree wholeheartedly with that sentiment. After having grown up in the blazing sands of Hammerfell, the seemingly constant deluge of snow in the hills of Skyrim seemed almost torturous. He had never been to High Rock, but he imagined that Daenerys probably felt the same.

"Thank you," she said quietly, running a hand along the curve of the bow. "But I'm not sure how to use these. Could I offer them as a gift to my lord husband?"

_Lord husband. It sounds so formal._

"My Khaleesi can do as she wishes, yes. If that is her wish, than it shall be."

As she handed the weapons over to Drogo, his lieutenant bowed again and retreated to join the others, nodding slightly at the Redguard when their eyes met and disappearing into the crowd.

After setting the weapons into the chest on his right, Drogo stood and looked down at his wife, meeting her timid gaze.

"The gift I have for you isn't much, but I hope it can serve you well in our new life."

Daenerys opened her mouth to reply, then gasped quietly as the crowd parted to allow Dar'Jazha through with a beautiful silver mare in tow.

Slowly rising to her feet, she looked hesitantly up at Drogo and smiled slightly when he nodded, going down to meet the Khajiit as he handed her the reins.

As Drogo walked down to join her he heard a murmured, "She's beautiful..." before Daenerys raised her eyes and looked up at him. "Can I ride her?"

"Of course. She's yours."

Carefully wrapping his large hands around her waist, he lifted her up onto the mare and set her down, marveling silently at how light and fragile she was.

When the young Breton steered her in the right direction, Drogo slapped the horse lightly on its haunch and stepped out of its way.

Daenerys' long silver hair flowed behind her as she rode through the sea of people and Drogo heard the sound of carefree laughter as the mare shook her head and whinnied.

As they turned and trotted back toward the platform, Drogo saw the first sincere smile of their short time together gracing his wife's features. She returned flushed and breathless with laughter, smiling down at him from atop the horse.

"You've given me the wind."

Drogo smiled at her happiness and patted the mare's neck, running his fingers through its pale mane while Dar'Jazha returned with his own horse; a large red stallion.

"The first ride." Dar'Jazha said with a purr, smirking up at the couple. "Khajiit will watch over the caravan until you return, yes."

Drogo vaulted up onto his horse and nodded. "We should be back before sunrise."

With that he turned and cantered off, waiting until he heard the hoof beats of Daenerys' horse behind him before he increased his pace.

He wasn't entirely sure how long or how far they rode, but by the time they reached their destination, both moons had risen and the shroud of darkness had fallen over Skyrim.

After lifting Daenerys off of her horse and setting her down beside the stream they'd stopped by, he secured the horses to a nearby tree and took a deep breath.

Turning back around, he walked over to his wife and stood towering over her, watching as a single tear made its way down her cheek. He lifted his thumb and wiped it away, turning her when she averted her gaze and bringing his fingers to the laces on her gown. They came undone with little effort and her dress fell to the earth, pooling around her bare feet.

The moonlight shone against her pale skin and sparkled in the silver strands of her hair, casting a gentle glow over her slender frame. He gently ran his fingers through the thin strands then turned her to face him, keeping his hands on her shoulders.

Her gaze rose to his and she blinked, long lashes fluttering over deep lavender eyes filled with dread.

Drogo ran his finger along the barely pointed tips of her ears and resisted the urge to pull her against him.

"We don't have to do this." He said, though his voice betrayed his desire.

Daenerys looked up at him with an expression of wonder and shook her head slowly, her voice a barely audible whisper. "No..."

_Gods, she's afraid of me._

Drogo nodded curtly and made to turn around when she spoke again.

"But..."

She stood up on her toes and wrapped a hand around his neck, pulling his lips down to meet hers.

"I want to..." Blushing prettily, she added, "I want..._you..._"


	5. Ghosts From the Past (Sandor I)

**A/N: **Here is chapter 5. I don't think there are any notes for anyone, so...just have fun reading. This guy right here is my favorite character, ever, so...yeah. Oh, yes, there is one note. General Tullius, the commander of the Imperial Legion in Skyrim was replaced by Tywin Lannister who, as a reference for Skyrim fans, is the father of Tyrion who we met in Chapter 2. Many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) **StarscreamII**.

**Disclaimer: **It belongs to George R. R. Martin and Bethesda, not me.

**Rating: **M for strong language and a brief implied sexual reference.

* * *

They echoed. They always echoed. Instead of one scream it was thousands, ringing in his ears like some demented hymn as he fought to get away. The flames hissed at him, _laughed _at him; licking his face and leaving nothing but ruin in their wake. Smoke filled his lungs and his breath came in desperate gulps between the screams of pain and terror. His begging did nothing and even when he heard shouts from behind, the pain didn't end. It never did.

Sandor Clegane sat up in bed, sweating and gasping for breath. No matter how many times he had the same nightmare, it always felt so real. _Too _real. His fingers mapped out the ruin of his cheek in the darkness and he dropped his hand back down in disgust. This time, the acrid smell of the smoke didn't fade as it usually did and it took him a moment to realize that the screams he now heard were coming from outside his door.

"Bloody fucking hell."

Hastily getting dressed, he snatched his sword from where it lay on the edge of the bed and flung open the door, flinching back when the blazing inferno roared and spat in his direction. The inn was in complete chaos; women ran screaming from their rooms while men tried to put out the fire with anything that was available. Somebody yelled at him to help but he only stared, paralyzed by the flickering orange and red wall. _A bloody fire. A Gods damned bloody fucking fire. Just my luck._

When his head cleared enough to think rationally, he went straight for the exit; the others could get out on their own. Weaving his way through the shadows along the wall, he watched in horror as a flame lashed out and pulled a man into its burning embrace. Sandor's own cries of pain echoed maddeningly in his head and for a brief moment he wondered if he was still dreaming.

Throwing the door open, he staggered out, coughing up smoke as he stumbled toward his horse. The animals could tell something was wrong. They kicked at the doors to their stalls and screamed out in panic, eyes wide and white with fear. Sandor almost set them free. He knew what it felt like to be burned.

Stranger was waiting for him when he arrived and didn't object when his master swung onto his back without a saddle and spurred him forward, galloping out of the stables and onto the dirt road. Sandor steered the horse in the opposite direction and was about to kick him back into action when he heard a voice beside him.

"Please, take me with you."

The mercenary looked down to see the young bard that had sang for him the night before, standing with lute in hand, her blue eyes wide with terror.

"I don't have the room, girl." he snarled, taking the reins in hand.

"I promise, I...I can pay you. I will. Everything I have. Just take me with."

A window on the second floor shattered and the inferno rushed out, sending a dark crimson glare flaring across the darkened town. Shadows danced across her face and darkened the left side, marring her pretty features for a brief moment. He could feel the heat beating at the burns on his own face and he swore, scooping up the girl and putting her in front of him before kicking Stranger in the side and galloping across the nearby bridge, not slowing down until the heat and flame were far behind them.

It wasn't until the lingering memories faded and died that he slowed his horse, letting the poor animal cool down after his frantic ride.

"Thank you," the bard said quietly to break the heavy silence, and then hesitated. "You never told me your name."

Sandor snorted and loosened his grip on the reins. "Most people call me the Hound. And who are you, little bird?"

The confusion in her tone was evident. "Little bird?"

Clegane scowled. "Yes. You sing. And you're pretty. Like a little bird."

There was a brief moment of silence before she responded. "Oh. My name is Sansa."

_Sansa? Bloody hell... _Moving Stranger back up to a trot, Sandor steered him onto the road leading toward Dragon Bridge and stayed silent, glaring out at the countryside. _First a fire, now a little tavern bard. And a bloody Stark none the less. Can things get _any _worse?_ As if on cue, a loud clap of thunder shook the ground and a cold wet rain began to fall down on them with a vengeance. His frown deepened. _Bugger it all._

"The rain should help to put out the fire," the girl chirped optimistically. "It might actually save the inn."

"From complete destruction, possibly," Sandor growled moodily. "But the damage is still done."

Sansa seemed to take the hint and stopped attempting to start a conversation with the grumpy sellsword. He was grateful for the silence; while it lasted.

"Where are we going?"

It took him a moment to realize she'd spoken.

"Hm?"

"I asked where we were going."

"Hell if I know. Just away from there. Dragon Bridge isn't too far. They have an inn we can stay at until we're properly rested."

Turning her head, the young woman looked at him curiously, her eyes displaying the unspoken revulsion at the sight of his burns. "Were you afraid of the fire?"

_Terrified. _"I wasn't looking for an early grave," he snarled, his dark grey eyes burning with anger at the question.

Sansa looked away from him and scooted forward a bit, moving out from between his legs. "I apologize if I made you angry. That wasn't my intention."

_So fucking polite. _He grunted and wrapped one arm around her waist when she started to slip, pulling her back against his chest and silencing her protests with a glare.

"How much gold do you have, girl?"

She peeked inside her lute where it was cradled under her cloak for protection against the rain and shrugged. The slight parting of the heavy cloak allowed a brief glimpse at what she wore underneath and Sandor didn't fail to notice that her dresses appeared to be growing too small. "Perhaps one hundred from last night, and then maybe about two thousand or so more that I have saved up."

Sandor frowned and moved his eyes back to the road when she dropped her cloak back down over her chest. That wasn't much, all things considering. "We can use part of that for a saddle when we reach Dragon Bridge and keep the rest for the remainder of our trip." After his initial retaliation to her question, he realized he did know where they were going. He knew exactly where. "I'll collect the money for your 'rescue' when I ransom you off to your brother."

Sansa stiffened against him and turned her head to meet his gaze. "I...I'm not sure what you mean, Ser...Hound."

"I'm not a ser. And exactly how many highborn seventeen year-old maidens with auburn hair and blue eyes are there that just so happen to be named Sansa? I may be drunk, but I'm not an idiot."

She ignored his last statement and addressed the question that preceded it. "There could be several..."

"I told you that you were a terrible liar and I meant it."

Sansa was silent for a moment. "And if Robb won't pay?"

Sandor laughed bitterly. "He will. But I'll humour you, little bird, so let's say he won't. I guess I'll just keep you until he does. Might be I'll threaten to take off your head if he won't. I wouldn't of course; you'll fetch a higher price if it's still connected to your shoulders."

Sansa stared at him in horror. "You're lying!"

"A hound will die for you, but never lie to you. You'd do well to remember that."

She moved away from him as much as she could, but he kept his arm firmly around her. Squirming, she weakly tried to get away and Sandor glared down at her. "Stop that." Riding bareback was hard enough without a pretty highborn girl fidgeting against him. Obeying, she stayed still and sat in a thoughtful silence, shivering as her rain soaked dress clung to her body.

He almost felt remorse for snapping at her—it was his own personal demons that remained to haunt him that were causing his discomfort, after all—but he couldn't exactly apologize without making his troubles known, so he brooded silently instead, marginally grateful when her voice broke his thoughts again.

"What's your name? I should at least like to know that about my brave rescuer." Sadly, there was no hint of sarcasm in her voice; just cold detachment hidden by a layer of polite courtesy.

_Hideous captor is more like it. Just say what you mean, girl. Highborn courtesies are as bloody irritating as the lords and ladies themselves. _"Sandor Clegane."

Sansa gasped quietly in realization. "You work for Tywin Lannister."

_The whole lot of Lannisters can go fuck themselves with their own swords. And the rest of the Empire as well. _"Used to." Sellswords worked for whoever had the most gold. That was undoubtedly the Lannisters, but no amount of money was worth walking onto a burning battlefield. "And besides, you worked for his son until about thirty minutes ago."

Tyrion Lannister was no friend of his father's, and therefore, through association, wasn't exactly on pleasant terms with his Hound either. The dwarf had recognized the former soldier the previous night at King's Landing, but apparently, since Sansa hadn't known who he was, the Imp had kept his mouth shut for once.

"I..."

"Exactly."

"You're going to take me back to Tywin Lannister, aren't you? I'm sure he would reward you handsomely for the sister of one of the Stormcloak leaders."

Sandor scoffed. "Use your bloody ears, girl. I _used to _work for him. I left the Legion; the only reward I'd get if I ran back to Lannister with my tail between my legs would be a swift death. Perhaps with a flaming sword if he or his son Ser Jaime were feeling humorous." _And wielded by Gregor I have no doubt._

The pinks, reds and oranges of the distantly rising sun began to peek over the horizon and Sansa seemed content to stay quiet and watch them spread their pastel hues over the landscape. Sandor looked down at her and sighed heavily, grateful for the respite from her questions. The little bird's incessant chirping was beginning to grate on his already frayed nerves. What he really needed was a glass of strong wine.

Stranger plodded dutifully down the road toward Dragon Bridge and the steady rhythm of his hooves on the dirt set a comforting background noise to Sandor's brooding and a pace that seemed to be lulling Sansa back to sleep. One of her hands moved to rest on the arm he had wrapped around her waist and she yawned quietly, leaning back against his chest and attempting to get comfortable despite his armor and the continued rainfall.

Sandor stiffened and shifted his legs, moving Stranger back up to a brisk trot as he spotted the bridge that the nearby town was named for just over the next hill. It would take roughly half an hour more to get there if they made good time. _What the hell do you think you're doing, Clegane? You should drop her off at Dragon Bridge and let her find her own way back to...wherever it is she wants to go. If she could even get anywhere on her own. _He glanced briefly down at the girl seated between his legs and stopped breathing for a moment when she put her head back against his shoulder and closed her eyes. All rational thought flew from his mind.

_Her hair smells like flowers._

..._Fuck my life._

* * *

"Wake up, little bird," Sandor said gruffly, nudging Sansa with an elbow as Stranger walked slowly through the darkened roads of Dragon Bridge. "We're here."

"In Windhelm?" Sansa murmured tiredly, her head rolling sideways to rest against his shoulder.

"No, not in Windhelm; in Dragon Bridge. We're staying here to get some rest before we keep going."

"Oh." She yawned and stretched, rubbing at her eyes with a balled fist. "Dragon Bridge. I've been here before; with my father and my sister Arya, when we first came to Solitude."

Sandor frowned and looked around for a stable. "Mmhm..."

"That's Four Shields Tavern."

He turned his head and looked over at the building she was pointing toward. "Aye. Right. You stay right here while I go see if there's anywhere to keep Stranger for the night." He swung down off his horse and took a few steps toward the tavern door before turning back around. "If you so much as think about running away with my horse, I swear I will hunt you down and—"

Sansa sighed wearily and shook her head, shivering slightly beneath her cloak. "I won't go anywhere."

Sandor just grunted then walked up the steps and opened the front door, calling out quietly into the darkness of the tavern so as not to wake any of the guests. "Is anybody here?"

The only response he got for a moment was silence before the sound of shuffling feet came from somewhere in the back and a disheveled young Nord woman appeared a second later with a lantern in hand. Sandor unconsciously stumbled away from the flame.

"Yes? May I help you?"

"I'm here with my..." _Hostage. Because saying that wouldn't alert the attention of the Legion. This girl is more damn trouble than she's worth. _"My, umm..."

"Wife," came a quiet voice from behind him.

_Wife? Oh...bloody hell._

The tavern's proprietress raised her eyebrows and then nodded. "Alright. We have a room that you can rent for the night. It's ten septims, but you can pay that in the morning if you're staying until then."

Sansa stepped forward and rested her fingers lightly on Sandor's arm, momentarily diverting his attention from the dancing flame in the lantern's glass casing.

"Thank you. We can pay for the room tomorrow when we break our fast. Which is it?"

"That one there, on the right. It's relatively small, but it should do."

Sandor nodded and rubbed his thumb across the pommel of his sword. "It'll be fine."

There was a moment of silence between the three before the older woman nodded again and turned away, walking back toward her room beneath the bar.

When Sansa walked over to their room and opened the door, Sandor followed, running a hand back through his hair and sighing.

"I tied Stranger to a post outside the tavern." She said, sitting down on the edge of the bed and smoothing out a wrinkle in the bedding.

Sandor frowned, but nodded, his exhaustion beginning to set in.

"Get some sleep. We have a long journey ahead of us."

She nodded and sat still for a moment, staring at him, before setting her lute and cloak down on the floor and lying down; curling up and pulling the blankets up to her shoulders.

Sandor watched her for a few seconds then turned away and closed the door before unbuckling his armor, putting it all in a pile on the floor and leaning his sword against the wall by her things. Sighing heavily, he lie down on the floor between the bed and the door and put his arms behind his head, staring up at the ceiling in preparation for yet another night of fitful sleep plagued by nightmares. After a few seconds, he heard Sansa stir before whispering quietly in his direction.

"Good night, Ser Hound..."

He grunted and rolled over onto his side to face the door. _I'm not a ser, girl. I'm nothing but a broken old dog that's running from his past. That's all you'll ever see._ He was tempted to voice his thoughts, knowing that she would try to deny what he said, but reconsidered and closed his eyes.

"Good night, little bird." He sighed and tried to get comfortable on the hardwood floor.

_One night down and a dozen more to go. It's a _long_ ride to Windhelm..._


	6. Honor and Glory (Gendry I)

**A/N: **And...chapter six. Ta da! For this one you will all need to know that it was my idea that the Silver Hand is a branch off of the Imperial Legion. If any of the _ASOIAF _fans are still confused by just what the Silver Hand is, this chapter should help clear up some of your questions. Also, the end of this chapter has a brief bit of overlap with the end of Arya's (chapter 3) so if parts seem parallel, that would be why. That being said, enjoy reading. Many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) **StarscreamII**.

**Disclaimer: **It's Bethesda's and George R. R. Martin's, not mine, except for Endryn who is an OC.

**Rating: **T for minor language.

* * *

"Waters, is that you?"

The Imperial looked up from the blade he was making and pushed a dark lock of hair back from his forehead. "Aye. Who else would be working at the forge? Last I checked, I was your only blacksmith. Unless of course you have a new recruit that knows how to work steel."

The Dunmer man standing in the doorway shook his head and took one of the daggers off his belt to clean beneath his fingernails.

"No, you're still the only one. I came because it would seem that congratulations are in order."

"For what?" Gendry asked drily, dipping the blade into a nearby tub of water and listening to the satisfying hiss. "Do I get the bowl of soup with the leek in it again, because you know I can't stand leeks."

"No; tonight, that honor is mine. But you...you get the Skyforge; greatest forge in Skyrim, or all of Tamriel if you talk to the right people."

Gendry set down his hammer and frowned. "What? But Eorlund..."

"Was an old man. He was long past due to join the old dog in Sovngarde."

"Endryn..." Gendry's look of suspicion clearly displayed what he was reluctant to ask.

The Dark Elf squinted. "Like I said, Waters, he was an old man. Accidents happen. Besides, he helped arm the mutts. He was a sympathizer, so he deserved the same fate we gave to Kodlak whether you like it or no."

Sighing, Gendry put aside the blade, untied the leather apron from around his waist and pulled a loose white shirt on over his head.

"Speaking of which," Endryn continued. "How is your search going?"

"I only saw one with the armor, but that doesn't necessarily mean there weren't others. It was the Nord; Vilkas."

Endryn nodded and took a bite of the apple in his hand. "Aye. One of the twins. We have yet to catch...either of them, the huntress, or their new harbinger. Rumor has it there's a new member too, but we're not sure who."

"I thought the other twin and the harbinger were cured."

"They were; are. But they still had bad blood once, so they deserve an end no different from their brethren."

Gendry picked up a rag and wiped the sweat from his forehead. "They both got married," he murmured quietly.

His comrade nodded and cast the young man a suspicious look. "Aye. But that's never stopped any of us before. Farkas' wife can be spared, but the Imperial married a bitch, and she's pregnant, so they'll both get what's coming to them. You're not having second thoughts about this are you?"

Sighing heavily, Gendry shook his head and ran a hand over his face. "No. I just...I thought the Silver Hand was a noble cause. Since when was killing women and children honorable?"

Endryn walked over and put a hand on his shoulder, looking up at him through narrow blood-red eyes. "Since they started worshiping demon gods and killing innocents, Waters. Don't forget why we do what we do. If the lines blur, things tend to get complicated."

_Things are already complicated._

"I know. I just need a good's night sleep so my mind can work through everything that's happened."

Endryn nodded and flipped his dagger in the air before catching it and sliding it back into its spot at his hip. "You're new. It happens to all of us at one time or another. Just don't take too long about it. We're all counting on you. The closer you get to the Companions, the sooner we can wipe them all out for good."

Gendry nodded and excused himself from dinner, offering his portion to Endryn before walking up out of the bowels of the fort they had settled and into the cool night air. Making his way across the battlements and to the main gate, he sat down on the edge of the stone tower and put his feet over the edge, supporting his weight on his hands as he leaned back and staring up at the nearly full twin moons.

_Tomorrow will be our busiest night._

As conflicting as their beliefs sometimes were, Gendry was still proud to be a part of the Silver Hand. From nearly all accounts, the beast blood was a curse that sent the afflicted men and women into violent and mindless rages, killing innocent people and sometimes themselves in the process.

Once, he'd argued that there couldn't be a transformation, not even one that involved a Daedric Prince, that could render a person completely void of any reason, but after seeing one werewolf after another do nothing but kill and destroy with blind rage and no hint of intelligence in their eyes, his opinion had changed.

Even with the occasional few that had managed to survive the torture they were put through long enough to make the transformation back to their human form, all were just as mad as the beast inside of them.

Gendry had traveled all the way to Solitude from his home south of Morthal to join the Imperial Legion, but when he arrived and told General Lannister his name, he was turned right around and sent down to Whiterun. Apparently, Tywin Lannister thought little of bastards. Thankfully, the little known branch off of the Legion needed a man with his skill set so he joined the Silver Hand and began his work as their blacksmith at the greatest forge in all of Skyrim.

Although it was a rather thankless job, he was grateful for the fact that his work supplying swords and armor to the other men and women had kept him busy enough to avoid getting the job of torturer or hunter. To his comrades, he feigned lack of skill with a sword or bow as his reason for not wanting to join them. Silently, he was only glad because it meant he didn't have to directly harm their victims.

Gendry's mind wandered back to his mentor and he sighed again. Even sympathizers were condemned to death. Even somebody as well-liked and powerful as Eorlund Grey-Mane couldn't escape the claws of the Silver Hand.

_And what about Arya?_

Arya Stark was just a girl. Maybe sixteen, if that. A woman grown by all accounts, but still young enough to have her whole life ahead of her. And yet, just for being a Companion, it was likely that she wouldn't live to see her next name-day.

Honestly, he was surprised to find himself thinking of her. He had never met her before until earlier that morning when she came to retrieve the weapons shipment, but on occasion, he caught her and Vilkas training out in the yard when he left the Skyforge to return to Gallows Rock. Or perhaps it had been Farkas; he couldn't really tell them apart.

When he thought about it, he realized that truly, as much as he didn't want to believe it, his work as a blacksmith was only a side-job. He really served as the Silver Hand's spy, quietly watching the Companions and returning back with information on their next targets. To be honest, he wasn't sure whether he should feel guilty or not.

Endryn had told him not long after he'd first arrived that his true purpose for joining them was to infiltrate Jorrvaskr and act as their friend until they trusted him enough to give them their secrets. He had also suggested he use a bed and the recruit named Ria to get information, but Gendry had stopped listening at that point.

His musing was broken by a long howl and seconds later, the fort sprang into action. Gendry stood and stretched, preparing himself for the journey back down to the forge to wait until the men returned with weapons and armor in need of repair. He had just crossed the main compound when Endryn ran past and threw him a silver sword.

"You're joining the hunt tonight, Waters! We're short a man."

"But, I—"

The Dark Elf slowed to a stop beside Gendry and fastened his sword belt around his hips. "Come on, you need this. It'll help to remind you why we do this. Once you fight one of the bastards, you'll never forget again."

Gendry just nodded and curled his fingers around the hilt of his sword, jogging after the rest of the men as they headed into the forest.

They ran under the cover of darkness, silent save for the dull thud of their feet against the wet earth. Deeper into the forest came the sound of a large animal, then a brief moment of silence followed by a howl. The Nord leading the hunting party signaled the others to a stop and waited until the movement resumed before waving them on.

In a small clearing a few feet away, a shaft of light from the twin moons broke through the canopy of leaves and shone on a hulking figure crouched in the shadows. All six men and the beast stopped moving before both slowly moved toward the other.

Gendry heard someone behind him nock an arrow and the werewolf in front of them snarled, pawing at the ground with a large clawed hand.

"Steady now..." Endryn hissed to the archer. "We want to take him alive."

When their target prowled forward, his frame separated from the darkness of his surroundings and Gendry squinted. The werewolf was big and black, with pale blue eyes that looked almost white in the light of the moons.

_Vilkas, _he thought to himself, a second before the same name was whispered by someone behind him.

The werewolf took another step toward him and Gendry was vaguely aware of the sound of a few stumbled retreating footsteps from his fellow hunters. He stood still and stared straight into the eerily blue eyes that met his gaze, his heart beating faster as he detected a hint of recognition. If Vilkas realized who—and what—he was, and told his harbinger, his cover would be blown.

The look in Vilkas' eyes shifted to one of hatred and he bared his fangs, stalking forward. Just as Gendry raised his sword, a howl echoed through the forest and Vilkas' ears shot up, his head turning toward the sound.

Gendry followed his gaze and realized with surprise that he seemed to be able to identify the voice of the other werewolf.

When he directed his attention away, the archer behind Gendry raised his bow and drew back, aiming for an area that would incapacitate but not kill the large beast. Before he realized what he was doing, Gendry stepped between Vilkas and the arrow and shook his head.

"Don't do it."

At the sound of his voice, Vilkas looked back over and shot one last glance in his direction before snarling and loping away, getting down on all fours and sprinting through the trees before any of the Silver Hand could move to follow.

"Waters...what in Oblivion do you think you're doing?"

Endryn stepped forward and glared up at him through shining red eyes.

"I..." Gendry hesitated and swallowed when he noticed that everyone's gaze fell on him. "He...heard something. Another one. Of them. And he seemed to recognize it by its...voice. The moons will be full tomorrow night, so we know they'll be back. If I follow Vilkas after Eorlund's funeral, he'll lead me right to whomever he was with, and we can get them both when they least expect it."

There was a moment of silence before the others all nodded slowly and Endryn grinned, slapping him on the shoulder. "That's the spirit, Waters! I knew you had it in you."

The Nord hunter just nodded toward Gendry then sheathed his weapon and turned to the others. "Alright boys, you heard him. We'll meet here tomorrow night and finally give these bastards what they deserve."

Their footsteps crunched away through the fallen leaves and their voices faded as Gendry stared off into the forest where their prey had disappeared. Looking down at the shining silver sword in his hand for a moment, he sighed and let it fall down to disappear beneath the leaves.

_Gods...what have I done?_


	7. The Rightful Queen (Dany II)

**A/N: **Hello. I know it's been a little longer of a wait than it was for the first set, but I had another story that I wanted to get a chapter up for before I kept posting for this one. The only thing I can think of that may need to be explained is for _ASOIAF _fans and that is that High Rock is the native country of the Bretons. Many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) **StarscreamII**.

**Disclaimer: **Everything belongs to George R. R. Martin and Bethesda. Except for Dar'Jazha. He's an original character.

**Rating:** T for minor language.

* * *

"Everybody up! We have a purchase agreement to deliver in Markarth before we get up to Solitude and we don't have time to spare!"

Dany looked up as Drogo stuck his head into their tent and raised his eyebrows. "Do you have anything to wear besides gowns?"

When she shook her head, he nodded and frowned, ducking back out and leaving her to stare down at the dress she had been about to put on.

After how surprisingly tender her new husband had been the night before, Dany felt a bit more at ease around him, but the new life she was a part of would still take some getting used to.

Slowly sitting down on the bedroll at the back of the tent, she pulled one of the thin blankets up to cover herself and wrapped her arms around her knees, hoping that Drogo would return and provide a little clarification on what she should do about her dresses. Thankfully, he returned a moment later with a handful of clothing, tossing it all in her direction before walking in through the flap of the tent and shuffling through a stack of papers, taking one from somewhere in the middle.

"Put those on and meet me out with the rest of the caravan. I'll get your horse ready." He hesitated for a brief moment then walked over and placed a kiss on top of her head. "Don't take too long."

Once he was gone, she stood up and looked at the clothing beside her. Doing her best to get dressed as quickly as possible, she slipped into the dark brown trousers and red top he had given her, fastening the included sandals to her feet and brushing her fingers through the thin strands of her hair.

When she walked out into the valley they'd settled for the wedding, she found herself in the middle of what seemed like the entire caravan. Men, women, and children were all running around and gathering together every tent and wagon of cargo into the center of the valley where Drogo and Dar'Jazha stood, yelling out orders to those who passed by. "Load up the carts! We need to get moving!"

Dany carefully picked her way through the crowd to Khal Drogo's side, standing quietly by him as he saddled their horses and swung his braid over one shoulder. Dar'Jazha turned toward her as she waited.

"Our Khaleesi slept well...yes?"

Blushing slightly at the look in his slanted eyes, she nodded. "Yes, thank you."

Drogo finishing cinching the saddle onto Dany's horse and shot a look at his Khajiit partner. "Leave her be, Dar'Jazha. She has a lot to get used to. You don't need to make it worse."

He curled his tail around one paw and shrugged, flicking his ears back. "What the Khal commands, Dar'Jazha obeys, yes." With that, he sauntered off into the throngs of people.

Drogo sighed and turned to his wife. "I'm sorry about him. He takes a little getting used to."

Dany just nodded and ran her fingers through the mane of her horse, smiling when the mare whickered and nudged at her hand with her nose. She saw Drogo smile out of the corner of her eye and he came to stand behind her.

"Are you ready to go?"

"Yes. Have you seen my brother?"

Frowning, Drogo shook his head and lifted her up, setting her on top of her horse.

"Not since last night. Would you like me to find him?"

Dany hesitated then shook her head. "No." _If Viserys wanted to see me off, he would be here. I won't give him the satisfaction of seeing me crawl back to him begging for a goodbye kiss._

"Alright. Then we'll be off." Drogo swung up onto his horse and whistled to Dar'Jazha who sent a nod in their direction and yelled toward the back of the caravan. A few seconds later, the carts rolled into motion and Drogo nudged his horse forward, leaving Dany to do the same.

They rode without talking for a while, but it wasn't an uncomfortable silence. The gentle _clip clop _of hooves against the earth and the occasional creak of the loaded wagons were somehow comforting and Dany found herself enjoying the steady swaying of the horse beneath her.

"How old were you when you left High Rock, Daenerys?"

Her name sounded strange and somewhat forced, but she understood that Khal Drogo was merely trying to put her more at ease.

"You can call me Dany," she replied, then sighed and furrowed her brow. "And I was almost three when Viserys and I fled here."

"Fled?"

Dany had a feeling that Drogo must've known something about the nature of their departure from High Rock, but she didn't mind telling him about it anyway.

"Our father was the ruler there, but he was killed. By an Imperial. The usurper took his throne and has been ruling High Rock for the past sixteen years." She was silent for a moment before continuing. "Viserys always said he would go back there and reclaim our father's throne, but...as you know, that has yet to happen. When we first arrived here in Skyrim, he sold our mother's crown to earn enough gold to gain prestige. You'd never hear it from him or anyone who helped him rise to his position, but it was that money that earned him his job as Jarl."

When she trailed off, Drogo glanced over at her. "And what about you? Have you ever thought of trying to claim the throne of High Rock?"

Dany laughed, and then smiled. It felt good to laugh again.

"Me? What claim do I have? I was the King's daughter, not his son, and the youngest child besides."

Drogo smiled at her laughter and shrugged his broad shoulders. "I'm not sure. Now that Torygg is dead, Elisif has a chance to take over as High Queen once the Moot is called."

Dany had never been all too interested in the politics of the Civil War, but now that Viserys had been asked to choose a side, the issue seemed a bit more pressing.

"Do you think she has a chance?"

"I suppose so. I think it all depends on the result of the civil war." Drogo chuckled and cast a brief glance over his shoulder to check the progress of the caravan. He slowed a little when he caught sight of a wagon that was struggling to keep up.

"I honestly don't give a damn about who wins. Either way, my caravan will still be in business. But since most of my customers are either Legion soldiers or Stormcloaks, I'm finding myself forced to pay attention to the progress of each side."

Their conversation was interrupted by a shout from somewhere behind them followed by the _whoosh _of a dozen arrows and then a roar. Dany looked back in alarm to see a bear standing up on its hind legs with about half of the loosed arrows protruding from its belly, back, and legs. Unfortunately, the only thing that the arrows appeared to have done was make it angry and when it lowered itself back to all fours, it shook its head and started running toward one of the carts.

Before she'd even realized that the Khajiit peddler had galloped up to meet them, Drogo was tossed a bow and a quiver of arrows.

"Dany, get behind me."

She obeyed as he notched an arrow to the bowstring and drew back, hitting the bear at the same time as three other archers. Between the four of them, they managed to take it down before it did too much damage.

Dany stared at the dead animal and blinked, peering out from behind Drogo to see if anyone was hurt.

"Skin it and add the pelt and claws to one of the wagons!" The caravan master called out, and a moment later, a few women went toward the creature to do his bidding.

Dany found herself suddenly disgusted, but not by the carving up of the bear's body; by herself. _How can I be the wife Khal Drogo is looking for when I've known nothing but the life of a lady?_

Before she could continue her self-loathing, Drogo turned back toward her and smiled, though the gesture didn't quite reach his eyes.

"We need to stop now in order to rearrange the equipment and make repairs to the wagon. If you'd like, we could stop for lunch. I don't believe we ever broke our fast."

Dany smiled weakly and nodded. "I would like that, my lord...Drogo."

He nodded and slung his quiver over one shoulder before swinging down off of his stallion and looking toward Dar'Jazha. "Make sure that cart is ready to go before we move out again. I don't want to have to make any unnecessary stops."

"Of course, my Khal...Dar'Jazha will join you when the task is complete, yes?"

"Yes."

Once he had ridden off toward the damaged cart, Drogo helped Dany down from her horse and set out a thin blanket in the grass, retrieving a bottle of wine and some food from his saddlebag as well.

Dany sat down on the blanket and immediately curled her legs to the side before she remembered that she was no longer wearing a gown. Frowning slightly, she looked down then slowly readjusted her legs so they were crossed in front of her. The position was surprisingly comfortable.

"Wine?" Drogo asked, holding out a filled goblet in her direction. She nodded and took it with a smile.

"Thank you."

He merely nodded and ate a piece of bread in contemplative silence. After a moment, he looked toward her with a blank expression.

"Do you know what the city of Markarth borders?"

Dany frowned and tried to recall an image of the map of Tamriel she had once learned, but came up short. "No."

A very slight smile tugged at the corner of Drogo's lips and he took a long drink of his wine. "High Rock..."


	8. The Headsman's Axe (Tyrion I)

**A/N: **Sorry about the wait. Pre-spring break tests were keeping me busy. Here is the first chapter told from the POV of a minor character. In my story anyway. Tyrion is far from minor in his canon universe. As for notes regarding this chapter…first off, all of the Lannister info Tyrion gives is accurate. In case any of you were wondering. You will be introduced to the elder Clegane brother later, so don't worry about him right now. For those of you who have read through at least a Clash of Kings or seen through season 2 of Game of Thrones, the Battle in the Bay of Ghosts is a loose parallel to the Battle of Blackwater. And then finally, Florian and Velehk Sain are mentioned. Those of you who know who Florian the Fool is, just know that Velehk Sain serves as a literary foil. And vice versa for those who know about Velehk Sain. Many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) **StarscreamII**.

**Disclaimer**: Everything belongs to George R. R. Martin and Bethedsa.

**Rating: **M for language and crude humour.

* * *

"What's the final count?" Tyrion asked wearily, running a hand over his face.

After nearly two hours of screaming, crying, dumping water, and dying, the fire had finally been put out with the help of a sudden and torrential rainstorm, and while the inn was miraculously still standing, there had been more casualties than Tyrion had hoped for.

"Three dead and two unaccounted for, m'lord." Shae responded, earning a sigh from her employer; and lover.

Tyrion nudged one of the burnt corpses with the toe of his boot. "Do we know who any of them were?"

The half-Altmer, half-Breton whore shrugged and gestured toward the most recognizable of the bodies: a fair-haired young Imperial. "Dancy bedded that one last night. He may've told her his name first."

The Imp nodded and pushed a stray lock of blond hair away from his forehead. "And who are the two that have gone missing?"

Shae hesitated for a moment and looked around as if to make sure that they were truly gone before she said anything. "Lady Sansa and the big burned fellow, m'lord."

_Oh, Gods, please let me have heard her wrong._

"Lady Sansa? Sansa Stark?" When Shae nodded, he swore.

"So, the Hound ran off with Sansa. This just keeps getting better every bloody second." Tyrion rubbed the bridge of his nose then looked up at Shae. "Get my horse saddled and ready, sweetling. And please try to manage here without me until I get back. I've had enough trouble for one night."

He turned and waddled back toward what remained of King's Landing, muttering darkly under his breath, "I've got to go see my father."

* * *

Tyrion ignored the whispers and stares as he trotted toward Castle Dour in his custom-made saddle, brooding silently atop his chestnut courser. When he reached the raised portcullis, two guards stepped forward and he gave them a withering stare.

"You know who I am. Tyrion, a Lion of House Lannister. If you don't believe me, I can recite our family tree back to Lann the Clever. Our words are _'hear me roar'_. Yes, I will demonstrate my roar if you ask politely, though it does sound a bit more like a sabrecat than a lion if truth be told."

Neither guard so much as blinked.

"But of course, I'm not here to recite the Lannister history am I? Actually, I'm here to see my father. In fact, I must see him at once." He craned his neck to peer past them for a glimpse of General Lannister then looked back down when his efforts proved fruitless. "You should tell him that."

Again, no reaction.

"It's about my wife."

Still nothing directed at him, though the two men did exchange a brief glance.

"You didn't know I had one did you? Well, to be honest, I don't, but I'm supposed to. A pretty young thing; and a maid too. Auburn hair, blue eyes, decent sized breasts for a girl her age. And you should hear her voice...I can only imagine the other beautiful things she can do with those lips."

When neither guard spoke, he exhaled heavily, drummed his fingers against his thigh and squinted down at the younger of the two roadblocks.

"I think I fucked your mother once. Did she ever mention me?"

Whatever the boy's reply would've been—if he'd deigned to respond at all—was cut off when General Lannister strode toward them.

"Let him through, and someone help him down from his horse."

Lord Tywin waited as Tyrion was lifted down from his saddle and set on the ground, then started walking across the yard.

"Why are you here?"

Tyrion tried to brush off his ego after being lifted from his horse like a child by ordering the two guards to tether the beast, but then found himself far behind his father and fought to keep up as he hurried awkwardly after him on his stunted legs. "It's about Clegane."

Tywin glanced across the yard to where an eight foot tall man in heavy plate armor was leaning against his six foot sword and bellowing commands at two other soldiers.

"Has he done something to trouble you?"

Tyrion followed his gaze and shook his head. "No. Not that one. The younger one. Your Hound has run off with something of mine, and I'd like to get it back."

General Lannister frowned and turned to face his son. "Sandor Clegane deserted the Legion after the Battle in the Bay of Ghosts. He's been roaming for the past few months and most reports say he's working as a sellsword. Are you telling me that you know where he is?"

"Well...no. Not quite. He stayed at King's Landing last night, rather surprisingly, but early this morning, it caught fire."

Tywin raised his eyebrows slightly.

"When the ash settled, he was gone. Along with Sansa Stark."

The general's expression hardened. "You lost the girl? Tyrion, she was our ward. As long as we held her, her brother wouldn't have dared to attack Solitude. The threat of Ser Ilyn Payne's sword at her neck was what kept the Stormcloaks at bay."

"Yes, you don't need to tell me, father. I _do_ try to keep up with the politics between drinking and whoring. But don't pretend like the head on her shoulders is the only one that concerns you."

"If you'd married her and taken her maidenhead as you'd been ordered, we wouldn't be having this problem. If you'd just done your duty, you'd have sons with a claim to Windhelm and then we wouldn't even need her anymore. Once her brothers were dead, you would be the lord of Windhelm and the civil war would be over." Tywin's voice was cold and harsh.

"I think you forget sometimes, father, that it's Ulfric Stormcloak's armies you're fighting, not Robb Stark's." He sighed and crossed his arms. "They only left a few hours ago. I know Clegane has a war horse, but they can't be far. I imagine they probably stopped somewhere nearby; Dragon Bridge perhaps. If we send someone after them, then we can reach her before anyone even realizes that she's flown from her cage."

"And who do you recommend to send that could take down the Hound and retrieve Lady Stark discreetly? A man like Sandor Clegane does not travel unnoticed. Word may have already reached the Stormcloaks that the girl is free."

Tyrion sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. _I hate it when that bastard has a point. We can't exactly send Imperial soldiers after her; Stormcloak would send his army down on Solitude the moment he caught wind of her escape, assuming he doesn't already know. _"Where's Jaime?"

Tywin's frown deepened. "I wish I knew. He left about a week ago yelling something about a goat, and a bear, some maid, and a dream he had. The soldiers are beginning to think that he lost his mind when that outlaw took his sword hand. I'm inclined to believe them."

Tyrion's eyebrows shot up and he laughed out loud. "Jaime? Ser Jaime Lannister, the golden knight, rode off into the sunset in search of a maid? And, what was that other part? Something about a goat? Well, this is certainly new. How does it feel now that you have two sons that turned out as disappointments?"

General Lannister chose to ignore the question and turned to watch the soldiers training on the opposite side of the yard.

"I'm sending you, Tyrion."

"Beg pardon?"

"The Hound took her by force."

"I'm not sure I understand your point...but are you even sure about that? Maybe she heard a rumour that she was supposed to marry the twisted little innkeeper and she took the opportunity to run off with a man with a bigger cock."

Tywin was not amused and shot his son a look that said as much.

"If we don't get to her in time, her value could go down."

_Her value. Divines, he makes her sound inhuman._ "She's just a girl. What has she done to have a price set on her?"

"She was born a Stark," Tywin responded flatly.

"And I was born a Lannister. What does that say about me, besides the fact that I always pay my debts?"

"This isn't about you, Tyrion." His father said sharply, turning back around to face him. "It's about Sansa Stark. Find her. Get her back. And do it before Clegane takes her maidenhead."

_That shouldn't be a problem. Sandor isn't his brother; he'd never rape her, and a young lady like her would never allow him to so much as touch a hair on her pretty little head. She still dreams of the handsome knights from the songs she knows so well. It's Florian she wants, not Velehk Sain._

"I do believe you're sending me off to die, father."

"This won't be a battle of swords, Tyrion. It's to be a duel of wits, and I know you can outsmart a dog."

_He does have a point._

Tyrion was silent for a moment, then put his hands on his hips. "Alright, but I have just one more question for you." Tywin stayed silent, so he continued. "Why do this at all? There's much to be gained from the girl's escape. True, she gave us leverage, but while we've held her here, the Young Wolf has been leading his armies into our forts and winning every battle. We may be keeping them away from Solitude, but we're losing the war. With Sansa gone, the stalemate is broken. You have the bulk of your army here in Castle Dour, just waiting for the opportunity to crush the Stormcloaks. Well, this is your opportunity, father.

Once Robb Stark hears of his sister's escape, he'll be distracted. He'll want to find her before we do. While he's traipsing about looking for the runaway Hound and his little sister, we start taking back what was ours. It'll give us back an edge, but you and I both know that the true key to this war is Ulfric himself. Stormcloak is arrogant, so while he thinks we're vulnerable from the loss of our hostage, he'll let his best general go off on his manhunt and he'll be the one leading the raids on our land. I've heard talk of him traveling down to the southern border for an attack on Falkreath. First, we position our troops in Helgen, and then when he comes riding up to take the city we'll be waiting there for him. With the headsman's axe."


	9. Into the Fire (Sansa II)

**A/N: **Snow is the bastard surname for those from the Winterhold region (and Waters is for Morthal; probably should've mentioned that when Gendry first showed up, sorry 'bout that). Also, in case you forgot since Sandor's last chapter, Sansa told the innkeeper that they were married, so that's why she refers to him as her husband. You didn't miss a shotgun wedding or anything. Many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) **StarscreamII**.

**Disclaimer: **Not mine. It's George R. R. Martin's and Bethesda's.

**Rating: **M for language, suggestive themes, and the consumption of alcohol. In other words, rated M for Sandor.

* * *

When the sun had risen high enough to cast its rays through the window of the room she was in, Sansa sighed and stretched, opening her eyes after a few seconds and looking up at the ceiling. The roof was made from thatched straw and above the bed, two deer heads were mounted on the wall.

Sansa frowned. _This isn't King's Landing. Where am I?_

Her question was answered a moment later when she looked sideways to see Sandor Clegane standing a few feet away and fastening his sword belt around his hips. He turned to face her when she yawned and slid his sword into its scabbard.

"Good, you're up. We should have enough money to break our fast, buy a saddle, and get you some new clothes, but we'll need more for the rest of the trip, so I'm working today. And you're coming with."

Sansa blinked and slowly sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "Why do I need new clothes?"

The Hound looked over at her and raised his eyebrow; the only one that remained. "Your gowns are too small, little bird. Any man with eyes won't be able to keep them off of you."

It was true. The morning before, when she was trying to lace up the bodice of her dress, it wouldn't tie all the way to the top and she had noticed that her chest had been getting more attention from the male patrons than usual. The fact that the Hound had noticed made her blush.

"Oh."

He looked at her for a moment longer than snorted and shook his head. "Come on. Go get us something to eat."

Sansa just nodded meekly and stood up, smoothing out her sleep-rumpled dress before following him into the common room where most of the other guests had already gathered. She was acutely aware of the stares aimed in their direction, but Sandor didn't even seem to notice, walking straight up to the bar where the proprietress stood.

"How much for food?" He asked gruffly, one hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword.

The Nord woman looked at him and crossed her arms. "Well, that would depend on the food you intend to purchase, ser."

_He's not a ser. He could never be a ser. No knight is as cruel as he is._

Before he could respond, Sansa stepped forward and put on a polite smile. "Two green apples and a sweet roll, please."

The other woman raised her eyebrows and glanced toward her captor for confirmation. He just grunted.

"That would be eight septims, m'lady."

Sansa placed eighteen coins on the counter to pay for their food and the room and took the food when the innkeeper returned with it, smiling warmly and thanking her.

When she turned back to the Hound, she frowned. "It wouldn't hurt to use proper manners, you know."

Clegane scowled and led her over to an empty table, sitting down beside her and snagging a worker to order a bottle of wine.

"Fuck your highborn manners. I'm not here to be nice to these people."

Sansa sighed and tore the sweet roll in half, handing the bigger side to the man beside her. "They know who you are."

The Hound took a bite of the pastry and responded as he chewed. "Do you think I don't know that, girl? You can't look like _this_," he gestured toward the left side of his face. "And travel unnoticed. That's why we're leaving here today before the sun sets." Taking one of the two apples, he stood up and looked over toward the bar.

"I'm going to go ask about the work around town. Don't you even think about doing so much as smiling at anyone. I'll be watching you."

With that, he walked back to talk to the innkeeper and Sansa sighed, sullenly chewing on her own apple.

She would honestly be happy about returning to her brother if she was traveling with anyone but the man with whom she currently kept company. As if his burns weren't bad enough, he insisted on being vulgar, rude, and rather terrifying. If she wasn't scared of what he'd do to her, she would try to run.

Before she could so much as look at the door that led to her freedom, the Hound returned with a bottle of wine in hand and tugged her roughly to her feet.

"That girl over there is going to arrange for your new clothing." He paused and took a long drink of wine. "I should be back within the hour, so don't think about trying to escape. If you finish before me, either wait in the room, or come and find me. I'll be down at the mill we passed on our way in."

_Maybe this girl can help me get away, _Sansa thought, glancing over to where she was waiting. "I won't try to run, my lord. I promise."

Sandor put his thumb beneath her chin and raised her gaze to meet his, grunting when she lowered her eyes. "Still a hopeless liar."

He released her from his grip and waved her toward their room, raising the bottle of alcohol back to his lips. "Go on and get fitted, little bird. I'll see you again before too long."

When he didn't move away, she nodded and walked slowly over to where the young Breton was waiting. As she approached the doorway she glanced back over her shoulder to see if he was still watching her, but he was gone, so she turned back.

"Good morning, m'lady. I'm Julienne."

"I'm..." Sansa hesitated for a moment. _The Hound won't want me to use my real name. _"Uh...Catelyn...Snow... Or, I was, but now I'm Catelyn...Clegane..." _Why did I ever say we were married?_ "My lord husband and I were just recently married. I'm still getting used to it."

Julienne nodded and closed the door behind her before taking out a dagger and laying some various types of fabric across the bed.

"How did he get the burns? If m'lady doesn't mind my asking."

"No...No, that's alright. He...uh..." _I really should ask him about that. _"There was an accident. With a mage. It was a rather unfortunate incident. I'd prefer not to speak of it."

The older girl nodded and bowed her head politely. "Of course, m'lady. Do any of these fabrics strike your fancy?"

Sansa looked down at her choices and ran her fingers along some pretty grey wool with white trim. "They're all very nice, but I'm afraid that my lord husband and I are leaving this afternoon, so making a dress is out of the question."

_It's been so long since I've had a new gown._

"Oh. Well, if m'lady doesn't mind waiting, I can go see if Faida has anything that might fit you. She's more your size."

Sansa smiled. "Of course. That would be fine."

Nodding, the Breton took the fabric back and hurried out, leaving Sansa alone in the room.

_If I were anything like Arya, I would already be out of this situation. She always knew what to do in times like these. _Sadly, she only found herself missing her little sister when she was caught in some sort of problem.

She heard the door open and close again behind her and she turned to face Julienne as she spoke. "Just this one, m'lady. But it looks to be your size."

It did look roughly the right size, although if Faida was the innkeeper as she suspected, it wouldn't be a perfect fit. Sansa had wider hips.

"You can call me S—" _Catelyn. I'm Catelyn now. It's my mother's name; it shouldn't be hard to remember._ "Cat. You can just call me Cat."

"As you wish. Do you think this would fit you?"

The dress was simple, but pretty, made from a light blue fabric and stitched by an obvious expert. "Yes. I think it should, but it couldn't hurt to try it on just to be sure."

Julienne nodded and started talking about people around the town to pass the time while Sansa got undressed. "You know, Faida and Gaius Maro were romantically involved, but then he got murdered. Right in the middle of Castle Dour. Just like that. And nobody saw who did it."

Once, Sansa may've cared to hear all the latest gossip. Once, she would sit in one of the windows of the College of Winterhold with her friend Jeyne and spend hours talking about nothing but men like Ulfric Stormcloak or Loras Tyrell. Now, she couldn't care less and what Julienne said barely registered.

After a few more minutes of mindless chatter, the Breton woman stepped back and smiled. "You look lovely, Cat. I'm sure your husband won't be able to keep his eyes off you."

_Any man with eyes won't be able to keep them off of you._ Sansa shivered.

"I'm sure. Thank you for your help, Julienne. I'll just..." she looked around for a moment then sighed. "Go...find my...husband."

Julienne nodded and smiled, bidding her farewell and recollecting all of her supplies as Sansa retrieved her lute from its place against the wall and walked out into the town, breathing in the cool morning air.

_I could go back to King's Landing. Tyrion may be a Lannister, but he's always treated me well. If I return, he'll be in my debt, and everyone knows that a Lannister always pays his debts._

She looked out toward the road they'd come from, but her feet refused to move. Instead, she felt her body turn, seemingly on its own accord, and she started walking toward the mill by the bridge. Somehow, she couldn't make herself leave, but it wasn't the Hound's threats that made her stay. It was…something else.

As he had said, he had found work chopping wood for Horgeir, the mill's owner. He glanced up as she approached and frowned when she sat down on the bench beside the chopping block, but didn't pause in his work.

"I got a new dress."

Wood chips flew as the axe crashed down.

"Good."

Sansa nodded and chewed on her bottom lip, trying not to focus on the muscles in his large arms when he placed a new log on the chopping block and raised the axe.

"Would you like me to sing for you?"

This time, he stopped and turned to face her, disbelief evident on his unscarred features. "Would I like you to sing for me? Bloody hell. Do whatever the fuck you like."

In a brief moment of spite, Sansa raised her lute and played the beginning chord of Age of Oppression. The Hound just snorted and shook his head before returning to his work. When she saw his reaction, she stopped playing and frowned. Her attempt didn't quite have the desired effect. Instead, she began The Dragonborn Comes, which earned no reaction at all.

_"Our hero, our hero, claims a warrior's heart._

_I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes."_

She stopped and looked at him for a moment. "Do you believe in the Dragonborn?"

The axe struck home and sent both sides of the log to the ground where Sandor bent to pick them up. "I don't believe in much of anything, little bird."

His yellow tunic clung to his muscular chest and she could see sweat beading along his hairline, but when he exhaled, she could also see his breath in the air.

"How sad."

He met her gaze for a moment then grunted and picked up the last piece of wood from the pile Horgeir had set out.

Sansa realized that she did feel sad for him. Suddenly, she didn't feel like singing any longer.

The Hound seemed to notice when she set aside her lute because he raised his eyebrow and wiped the sweat from his forehead with one of his sleeves. "Did you forget the rest of the words?"

"No." _I just...don't believe them anymore._

Sandor just stared at her for a moment then hefted the axe over one of his broad shoulders and squinted up at the sky.

"We should head back to the Four Shields." He announced after a moment of contemplation and a final swing from the axe. "We can eat lunch so we won't be hungry on the road and then look at a map to see just how far we have to travel."

For once, Sansa found herself agreeing with the Hound. She _did_ want to know how far Windhelm was when traveling on horseback. She just nodded.

They traveled back to the tavern in silence, his brooding, hers fearful, and when they reentered the cozy warmth of the common room, Sansa relaxed slightly, going to order some food while the Hound retrieved a map.

"Two slices of beef, a bread loaf, an eidar cheese wedge, and...a bottle of Nord Mead please." She heard heavy footsteps behind her and Sandor passed her a rolled piece of parchment before looking down at Faida.

"Add two bottles of wine to that order."

Sansa looked at him in horror._ Divines, he's going to get drunk._

"We just ran out of wine. Will ale do?"

Sandor looked displeased, but just grunted and nodded nonetheless.

"That would be seventy-seven gold please."

Sansa handed over the money and took the food the Hound hadn't as he settled down at the farthest table.

"Give me the map."

She gave it to him and started cutting apart her meat while he spread the map of Skyrim out across the wood surface. After a moment, he frowned and she raised her eyebrows. "What is it?"

"We'll have to pass through at least one major city to get there." He tapped Dawnstar with his finger then moved it down to Morthal. "Maybe two if that fork in the road gets us there quicker. Those stops may delay our journey, especially if you're recognized."

Sansa looked down at the map and stared wistfully toward Winterhold. _If only I could just go home. See Bran and Rickon again. And even Arya, if she's still there._

"If we make good time and all goes well, it should take about a week, more or less to reach Windhelm."

Although that was seven days more than Sansa had hoped for, it wasn't all bad.

"And then you can be rid of me."

Sandor glanced over at her and chewed thoughtfully on a piece of bread before looking back down at the map. "Yes, little bird. And then...I can be rid of you."


	10. We Take Our Leave (Arya II)

**A/N: **The only note I can think of is to tell people who are unfamiliar with Elder Scrolls lore that Sovngarde is the equivalent of Heaven for Nords. And…pretty sure that's it. If you have any other questions, just let me know. Also, the lines of dialogue during the funeral in italics are spoken in unison. Reviews are appreciated! :) Many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) **StarscreamII**.

**Disclaimer: **The funeral ceremony belongs to Bethesda, as does everything else Skyrim related. A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to George R. R. Martin.

**Rating: **M for minor language and a brief sexual reference.

* * *

"Before the ancient flame,"

_"We grieve."_

"At this loss,"

_"We weep."_

"For the fallen,"

_"We shout."_

"And for ourselves,"

_"We take our leave."_

Arya glanced over at Gendry where he stood alone apart from the Companions then refocused on Eorlund's pyre when Farkas placed his torch beneath it. The flames grew as they enveloped the old Nord's body and lapped eagerly at the pyre as the smoke started to rise. She hoped the blacksmith's apprentice knew that they had done the same ceremony for Kodlak White-Mane upon his death; Eorlund was held in just as high esteem as the much beloved former Harbinger had been.

Looking over at Vilkas, she murmured quietly beside his ear. "I'm going to go talk to Waters. If the Silver Hand had something to do with this, he would know." Squeezing his hand, she left her spot by his side to join the young Imperial.

"Were you there when he died?"

Gendry shook his head.

"And why not?" She tried to make the question seem casual, but a hint of accusation crept into her voice.

"I...I was no longer working. I heard the news from a friend of mine."

"And did this friend tell you how he died?"

He shook his head again and cast an uneasy look over her shoulder toward where her fellow Companions stood.

Arya glanced back to see Vilkas staring in their direction and she continued. "They say it was in his sleep. Just like that. A perfectly healthy man, by all accounts. Did he perhaps tell you of some ailment from which he suffered that he failed to mention to any of us?"

"No. But, he wasn't young anymore. Perhaps the Gods just thought it was his time to join Kodlak and the rest in Sovngarde."

"Or perhaps there's more to it? Did you ever wonder for even a second if there was anyone who might want the 'old man' dead?"

Gendry backed away from her suspicious stare and put up his hands. "I don't know any more than you do, Arya! And I may not be a Companion, but I loved him as much as any of you. He was a good man, and I'm grieving too."

_There may be a shred of truth to his words. Even if the Silver Hand was behind his death, perhaps Gendry wasn't involved._

"Of course. I'm sorry, it's just...like you said, he was a good man. And he'll be missed. I suppose his death is only making me paranoid. Forgive me, Gendry Waters. I didn't mean to offend you."

Although she tried to say it as her sister would've, proper and polite, she knew the words sounded flat and false. Bidding him farewell, she walked back over to where Vilkas was waiting and sighed.

"He says he knows nothing. I'm not sure if I believe him, but I don't think he was directly responsible." When Vilkas frowned, she placed a hand on his arm and smiled. "What do you say we go down and take out our anger with swords, shall we?"

Her lover smiled slightly and nodded. "Aye. You always have much to learn." He shot one last glance at the Imperial bastard before following Arya down the steps to Jorrvaskr when she tugged on his hand.

When they arrived at the far end of the training yard, they each drew their sword and Arya got into a defensive position, watching Vilkas as he looked at her with furrowed brows.

"Arya, I know you just want answers, but, try to be careful. One day, you'll ask too many questions and wind up getting yourself into trouble."

Their steel flashed in the sunlight and when Arya spun around to her right, they met with a clang and a shower of sparks.

"Vilkas, how many times do I have to tell you not to worry about me? You treat me like a child sometimes!"

Her lover frowned and parried her offensive strike. "Arya...you _are_ a child."

She bristled angrily and drove him back toward the stone wall behind him. "I've been a grown woman for years now, Vilkas."

He eyed her for a moment then shrugged and took the offense. "Perhaps physically."

"Well, I'm not innocent either. If you want innocence and naïvety, just look at my sister Sansa. She still believes in knights and songs. I'm a _true_ Stark, Vilkas. We can hold our own." Using her superior agility, she dodged a blow from his sword and landed the tip of hers in the break in his armor beneath his arm. "You're dead."

He was silent for a moment as she withdrew her blade and turned to face him again. "Do you ever think your brother worries? That he's ever afraid?"

Arya blocked the strike aimed at her head and spun around to end up behind Vilkas. "Which brother?"

"Robb."

She snorted. "Who does he have to fear? Don't say the Legion; that's just laughable."

Vilkas shook his head and landed a cut just below her ear. "You're dead." When she frowned, he answered her question. "His own soldiers. Do you ever wonder why they call themselves the Stormcloaks?"

"Well..." Arya leapt nimbly around his swinging sword and took a step back when the two weapons crashed together. "Because Ulfric was the one who killed High King Torygg. But Robb is the one out fighting the battles and bringing them to victory. Stormcloak does nothing but sit on his fat arse and drink mead." Ducking to avoid Vilkas' attack, she added, "You know it's true."

Vilkas shrugged and slammed his sword against her arm then smacked her on the back of the head with the flat of his blade. "I had heard that he's gotten a bit chubby."

Arya couldn't help but laugh and she looked into his pale blue eyes as she countered a series of strokes. "Just don't worry so much about looking after me that you get yourself into trouble, alright?" She grinned and let her eyes wander down the length of his body. "Believe it or not, I'm actually quite fond of you."

Vilkas snorted and rolled his eyes, turning to attack the young Nord woman with renewed vigor. As he lifted his claymore, Arya rammed her shoulder into his chest and drove him backwards, disarming him in the process. When he fell heavily against one of the straw training dummies, she pulled the dagger from her belt and held it to his throat.

"You're dead."

He stared at her for a moment then sighed in defeat and raised his hands. "Alright, I surrender."

Arya laughed. "You can't surrender; I already killed you." Grinning, she added teasingly, "I thought you were supposed to be the one teaching me."

"Since when have you cared about what's _supposed _to happen?" Vilkas countered. "I have a feeling you weren't _supposed _to sneak into my room and slip beneath my sheets as bare as your name day, yet you still did it."

Smirking, Arya nodded and withdrew her dagger, sliding it back into its proper place. "Yes I did. And I didn't hear you complaining." She kissed him and pulled away when he sighed heavily.

"Arry...I know you don't want to hear this, but...Jed would let us go to Winterhold if you wanted so we could—"

Arya stepped back and turned away, running a hand back through her hair. "Vilkas, I've told you that I don't want to get married."

Her fellow Companion moved toward her again and wrapped his arms around her waist. "I know you have, but...you've never told me why. I love you, so why can't we just...stop hiding? Arya, I want to be with you."

She refused to turn when he kissed her neck and she chewed on her bottom lip. "We're not _hiding, _Vilkas. Most everyone knows about us."

"In the Companions, yes, but you could probably walk out to the Bannered Mare and the innkeeper wouldn't know. I don't understand why you don't want this."

"Vilkas, it's not that I don't want to, it's just…I'm not ready."

"Ready for what? You've already given me your maidenhead. What else is there to give up?"

She squirmed out of his arms and paced a few steps. "My life! Vilkas, I'm only fifteen."

He frowned. "Some girls are married before their thirteenth name day. Besides, you were just telling me that you're not a child."

"And I'm not! But I have a lot of my life left to live. I don't want to stop now and get married. I don't want to live in a nice little house and have children that I'll need to raise. I don't want to sit at home for the rest of my life to be a perfect wife. That's my sister's dream, and I always hated her for it!"

Vilkas gave her an exasperated look. "But you wouldn't have to give up your life. You can still be a Companion. Look at Aela. And Jed will be a father soon, but he's not stepping down as Harbinger. A ring and a ceremony won't change any of that."

Arya turned back to face him and balled her hands into fists. "But it would, Vilkas! That's what I'm saying! I'm not ready for any sort of commitment!" She realized a second too late what she had said and tried to speak as Vilkas' expression hardened. _Oh Gods, what have I done?_

"So it's me you're not sure about."

"Gods, Vilkas, no. That's not what I meant—" She tried to reach out toward him, but he wrenched away from her grasp and took a few steps back.

"No, that's what it is isn't it? Divines, I must be blind. You know, you've never told me you loved me. Not once in all the time we've been together. Never." He laughed bitterly and pushed a lock of dark hair back from his forehead.

Arya stepped toward him and shook her head. "No, Vilkas, that's not it. I swear it's not."

"You know what, Arya? Just stop. I get it now. I just…I need time to think about…you. And me. Us. Everything." He sighed and turned away, then shook his head and started walking off.

Watching him go, Arya felt her heart stop for a moment and she called out after him. "I'll see you tonight!"

He hesitated for a moment before turning back around and staring straight at her. "I wouldn't count on it."

* * *

When Vilkas hadn't been back at Jorrvaskr after she'd gone hunting, and searching for him, Arya had retired early to his chambers and there she remained, staring up at the ceiling.

He hadn't returned after several hours and she was beginning to worry. Usually, he'd show up around three in the morning, having lost track of time as he hunted or trained with one of the new recruits.

She half expected, half hoped that he would walk in, climb in under the covers with her, accept her apology and spend the rest of the night making love to her while she told him, loudly and repeatedly, just how much he meant to her. But he didn't.

After another half hour of waiting, she tossed off the furs that covered her, swung her legs over the side of the bed and exhaled heavily, pushing back her tousled hair.

_Gods, please, just let him come back. I didn't mean what I said. I really do love him._

Pulling on a pair of ragged trousers and one of Vilkas' tunics that had been discarded on the floor a few nights earlier, she got up and opened the door, walking barefoot through the dark and silent halls of Jorrvaskr.

She was about to open the door to the mead hall when it flew open to reveal a flustered and breathless Torvar.

"Torvar...what's wrong?"

The Nord man bent over and put his hands on his knees as he gasped for breath. "It's...Vilkas..."

Arya's heart leapt to her throat. _Divines, no._

"He's been...caught. By the Silver Hand."


	11. Leverage (Ralof I)

**A/N: **Okay...so, for those of you who don't know him, Ralof is a fairly minor, yet relatively frequently present Stormcloak soldier through the main quest-line of Skyrim. And...he got a chapter. Yay for him. Umm...Robb is the Young Wolf. Not sure if I've already mentioned that. Also, Stormblade is the highest achievable rank in the Stormcloak army. In addition, so you aren't confused, when quill pens were used, one had to wet the quill (usually done so with the tongue) to get the ink flowing. So, that's what Robb was doing. He doesn't just like tasting ink. Many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) **StarscreamII**.

**Disclaimer: **Nothing belongs to me. It's all Bethesda's and George R. R. Martin's.

**Rating: **T for language.

* * *

The sound of hooves beating on the dirt path that led to the Stormcloak camp announced the arrival of a coming rider before he rode around the bend and swung down off his horse, approaching the sentry at a brisk walk.

"I have a message, ser, for the Young Wolf."

Ralof raised his eyebrows and loosened his sword in its scabbard, leaning against a nearby rock. "From where? Windhelm? Is it news from Jarl Stormcloak?"

The messenger shook his head and swept aside his cloak to take out a roll of parchment from the satchel at his hip. "No, ser. A report from Dragon Bridge."

_That town is our way across the Karth River. _"Dragon Bridge? Has it been taken by the Legion?"

"No, ser. It is still held by no side of the war. I am not sure of the nature of the letter, ser. I was only told to bring it directly to the hands of Lord Stark. Please, ser, I've been travelling for days and this news is urgent."

Ralof narrowed his eyes and adjusted his grip on the sword by his side. "Told by whom?"

"I was not given and did not ask any name, ser." When the young messenger pushed back his hood to reveal a head of curly blonde hair, Ralof frowned.

"Are you a Lannister?"

The boy hesitated then nodded. "Yes, but I do not fight for my cousin's army. Now please, ser, with your permission, I would deliver this to his lordship."

Ralof nodded grudgingly and stepped aside, turning around and walking toward the large tent at the other side of the camp. "Very well. Follow me."

When the soldier stepped inside the tent, Robb Stark looked up from the maps strewn across the table and raised his eyebrows. "Yes?"

"A Lannister courier has arrived, m'lord. With news from Dragon Bridge."

Robb frowned and looked down at the arrangement of blue and red flags pinned to the maps. "Has it been captured?"

Ralof shook his head. "No, m'lord. I asked the same and the man said no. He knows not the nature of the letter which he brings."

The Stormblade of the Stormcloak army nodded curtly and brushed a curly lock of auburn hair from his eyes. "Let him in."

Stepping inside the tent, the messenger bowed low and presented the letter, sealed with ordinary wax and marked with no sigil.

"And you know not who this is from?" Robb asked, appraising the young Lannister for a moment before breaking the seal and unrolling the parchment.

"No, milord. She said only that the news was urgent."

"She?" Ralof asked as Robb rubbed his thumb absentmindedly across the corner of the parchment and inspected the now broken seal.

"A child, ser; dressed in rags. I do believe she was acting as only a messenger for some other source."

_One of Lord Varys' little birds, no doubt…This reeks of Lannister treachery._

The young soldier's frown deepened as he began reading and after a moment, he looked up at Ralof. "The Hound has resurfaced after his desertion, it would seem."

Ralof shrugged. "He's a dangerous man, but not so ruthless as his brother. Do we have anything to fear now that he's not a part of the civil war?"

Robb didn't respond, but continued reading, exhaling slowly when he reached the end. "Talos save us all…"

The messenger raised his eyebrows, but tried not to look overly interested. When Robb looked in his direction, he cleared his throat and adjusted the satchel of letters at his hip.

"Could we be alone for a moment, please?"

The courier nodded and withdrew from the tent, leaving Ralof and his commander alone with the letter. The former pulled aside the flap of the tent to make sure the Lannister boy was out of earshot before looking toward his superior officer.

"What news, Stormblade?"

Robb sighed again and ran a hand over his unshaved chin. "It's my eldest sister, Sansa. She was taken by Clegane from Tyrion Lannister's tavern when it caught fire two nights past."

Ralof frowned. "What would the Hound want with your little sister?" _Besides what any man wants of a seventeen-year-old maiden._

"A great amount of gold for her ransom, perhaps. I imagine he's spent most of his winnings from my father's tournament on wine and whores. Sansa's a highborn lady, and she's an asset to both sides of the civil war, so he knows she'd fetch a fair price. Or, if he's anything like his brother, he'll just rape her a dozen times and leave her to die beside the road."

_If the Gods are good, he will. She's caused too much trouble for Skyrim already._

"So the Lannisters no longer hold their bargaining chip."

Robb nodded. "And she was taken by one of their own sworn men. I'm sure the irony is not lost on Tywin Lannister. He'll have men chasing after them as we speak."

"And what if we get to them first?"

Stark exhaled heavily and gestured toward the largest of the maps on the table before them. "Tell me, Ralof. What do you see?"

"A whole lot of blue, Stormblade."

"Aye. And the only thing keeping us back from driving our forces into the heart of the Legion was the shadow of Ser Ilyn Payne's sword at my sister's neck. So tell me, what's stopping us from marching to Solitude?"

Ralof frowned and considered the question for a moment. "Ulfric's orders?"

The younger man raised his eyebrows and the faint hint of a smile graced his lips. "I could lead an army to Lannister without Stormcloak's permission. He trusts me to lead his men to battle; and to victory. The answer, Ralof, is nothing. Nothing is stopping us from taking the head off the Empire once and for all and ending this war."

Ralof was beginning to catch on. "But there's nothing stopping the Legion now either."

"Aye. Exactly. Lannister was so busy worrying about keeping his leverage that he was willing to lose in the field. Now that Sansa's been taken, there's nothing for either side of the war to lose. People may not realize it, but the outcome of this war has been resting on my sister's head for a little over a year now. With her out of the way, the stale mate is broken."

"And Lannister will send his army to take Windhelm while our troops are busy keeping the forts we've captured."

Robb just nodded.

_Son of a bitch…_

"The West is the key to this war. Stormcloak has his men seated at every throne in the East with the exception of Viserys Targaryen in Riften. Ulfric knows that if we're to win this war, the West must be conquered. Once this news reaches him, the conquest will begin. And he will lead it." He paused for a moment and stared down at the table in contemplation, pounding his fist lightly against its wooden surface. "We have to stop him."

Ralof stared at him in confusion. "M'lord?" _Has Robb Stark turned traitor?_

"Ralof, you're the only man I trust with this. Ride to Windhelm in haste and tell Ulfric that he cannot move. If he gives me his trust in this, I will bring him victory, but he _must not_ march on Falkreath."

Striding across the tent to pull out a piece of parchment, the Young Wolf spread it out on the table and dipped his quill in the pot of ink beside him before dabbing the tip against his tongue and writing out a hurriedly scrawled message.

"I will join you in Windhelm within a fortnight and put my best men in charge." he looked up from his writing and met the other soldier's gaze with steely resolve in his bright blue eyes. "If Ulfric doesn't listen, it could mean the end of this war, with the Empire as its victors."

"Yes, m'lord." Ralof stood by while Robb finished the letter then sealed it with grey wax, pressed the direwolf of House Stark into the quickly cooling liquid and handed it off to him.

With a nod, he turned and tucked the letter into the belt at his hips.

"And Ralof,"

He hesitated.

"Do _not_ fail me…"


	12. Tools of the Trade (Vilkas I)

**A/N: **Sorry about all the chapters lately from various minor characters. Or maybe you're welcome? If you like these short breaks from the main storylines. Anyway, no notes for this one, so just enjoy reading. :) Many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) StarscreamII. And an immense amount of thanks to WinterWars for reviewing the last chapter! This one's for you; sort of. :/

**Disclaimer: **Nothing belongs to me except for Endryn. He's an OC.

**Rating: **M for language and the implication of future torture

* * *

"Get up." The command came a second before Vilkas was kicked savagely in the side with an iron boot and he opened his eyes, closing them again when the sudden light sent daggers of pain through his already pounding head.

"I said get up!"

He scrambled blindly away before he was kicked again and staggered to his feet, reeling slightly.

The Dunmer in front of him sneered and threw a pair of ragged trousers at his feet. "Put those on." He turned away and directed his next command to the man outside of Vilkas' cell. "Waters, bring him down when he's dressed."

Gendry nodded and walked inside the cell once his companion had left.

"You should give him the answers to what he asks."

Vilkas ignored him for a moment, reaching out to grab the pants as he struggled to stand, gripping the bars of his cell for support and wincing in pain as the iron dug into his palms. After managing to drag himself up and slump against the bars, he glared at the younger man and pulled on the trousers. "Why would I take advice from a traitor?" His voice was rough from disuse and speaking sent him doubling over in a violent coughing fit.

Wordlessly, Gendry handed him a bottle of wine and he took it hesitantly, desperately gulping down the dark liquid once he was sure it was safe. He wiped it away as it dripped down through his beard and stared distrustfully at the Imperial.

"Why did you do that?"

Gendry raised his eyebrows as Vilkas laced up his trousers with clumsy fingers. "Do what? Give you wine?" He shrugged. "You looked thirsty."

Vilkas stayed silent for a moment then nodded and limped out of his cell, keeping one hand against the wall for support as he walked behind Gendry.

"How long will it be before the Companions send someone after you?" Waters asked, glancing over his shoulder.

_Oh Gods...Arya..._

Vilkas chose not to answer, hobbling down the stairs that led to the lowest level. On the last step, he stumbled, and Gendry reached out to steady him, meeting his gaze with a worried expression when he wrenched his arm away and spat at the blacksmith's feet. The blood that spattered across Gendry's boots and ran down Vilkas' broken lip tied his stomach in a knot.

"They won't be coming," He finally said. "They aren't stupid enough to risk their lives for me. The others you've taken weren't saved, why should I be?" _Divines, please let that be true._

"Endryn will do what he must to get answers from you, Vilkas." Gendry said, ignoring his last comment. "If there's anyone that you love in this world, tell him what he wants to know and you'll live to see them again."

_Arya...Gods, I'm sorry, Arry._

"The sentence for treason is death," Vilkas rasped, steadying himself against a wall as he coughed violently. Gendry laid a hand on his shoulder and led him down to where Endryn was waiting, a row of tools lying out before him.

"Have you talked with him, Waters?" The Dunmer asked as he shoved Vilkas into the cell and shackled him to the wall.

"Yes. He knows that if he tells us what we want to know, his life will be spared."

The torturer laughed, his crimson eyes shining in the light of the torches along the walls. "Is that what you told him? Why bother to give him any hope? You've seen what I do to his kind."

Vilkas thought he caught a glimpse of fear in the young blacksmith's eyes. _Perhaps Arya was right about him..._

"Waters, tie up his feet."

Gendry hesitated for a moment before doing as he had been commanded, meeting their prisoner's gaze once before turning back to his task. On the other side of the cell, Endryn pulled on a pair of leather gloves and carefully selected a knife from the tools before him.

"Let's begin, shall we?" Turning around, he leaned back against the bars of the cell and crossed his arms. "How many are there?"

"How many what?" Vilkas replied in a low growl, shifting in an attempt to ease the pressure of the shackles against his wrists.

Endryn considered the question for a moment. "Members of the Circle. There were six, but then we killed Skjor and Kodlak. That makes four, but your brother and your Harbinger both left so…two? Surely you have someone else."

The only response he got was a dark look.

The torturer met his gaze indifferently and glanced back at his fellow soldier. "Waters, how many are there?"

Gendry shrugged. "They never trusted me enough to tell me information of that nature. The Circle is made up of the best and most seasoned warriors. Most of the recruits they have are young and inexperienced, so there may only be the two."

_Young and inexperienced..._

Vilkas closed his eyes as he thought back to the first time he and Arya had met. She had shown up in the training yard with a sword nearly as skinny as she was and Vilkas had only reluctantly agreed to teach her when Jed had given him a direct order to do so. When he'd asked her what she knew about sword fighting, she'd just laughed and replied with a grin, "Stick 'em with the pointy end."

"Why won't you talk? Are you so eager to lose your skin?" The Dunmer torturer spun the flaying knife between his fingers and raised his eyebrows. His prisoner shifted uncomfortably at the thought, but remained silent.

"Are you protecting someone?"

Apparently, some emotion crossed Vilkas' face because a sadistic grin tugged at the corner of Endryn's lips. "So that's it...Waters, who's he been fucking?"

Gendry looked utterly bewildered and he shook his head. "I...didn't know he was with anyone. There's...I...I don't know..."

_Thank the Gods._

"What's her name, Vilkas? Is it Aela?"

The incredulous look Vilkas shot at the torturer was answer enough so Endryn moved on. "Ria? Njada?"

When his prisoner simply shook his head, the Dunmer narrowed his eyes and stalked closer. "Are you lying to me?"

Vilkas stared up at him. "What would I gain from lying?"

"The respect of your comrades," he replied. "The Companions are honorable, so surely they won't take kindly to one of their own spilling all their darkest secrets." The disdain in his voice made a rush of anger rise in Vilkas' chest and he shot Endryn a seething glare.

"I'd say you already know our darkest secret."

The torturer gave a mirthless laugh and nodded in agreement. "Yes, I suppose we do. Now…what are their names? The others of your kind. Is Jorrvaskr the only Companions hall? Are there more of you in other cities? If so, where? And how many?"

"You know the answers to all of those questions," Vilkas said drily. To be honest, he didn't know many of the answers himself, but hopefully, neither of the Silver Hand men would call his bluff and would simply assume they had missed a briefing at some point. "I can't say it looks like you need me."

Endryn punched him squarely in the jaw and left him turned away, fresh blood flowing from his broken lip. "You're lying. I know that you are. The other night you were hunting with someone else, but it wasn't the bitch Aela so I'll ask you one more time..._who is it?_"

Vilkas snarled and spat in the Dunmer's face. "Fuck you."

His captor turned away and wiped his face, composing himself before retreating back to lean against the bars beside his comrade. "Answer me this time, Vilkas. Are there any Companions outside of Whiterun? If so, where? How many of them are werewolves? _What are their names?!_"

With each question, he strode angrily toward Vilkas until the Nord found a flaying knife against his throat and a boot pressing firmly into his ribs to cut off his breath. "Tell me..." Endryn hissed lowly, a fire burning deep in his crimson eyes.

Vilkas sucked a thin breath through his mouth and met the torturer's gaze, staring into his eyes at his own reflection. He could see what he looked like. How close to death he was; would be. Unbidden, he heard a familiar taunting voice echoing in his head. _"You're dead." "Alright, I surrender." Arya laughed. "You can't surrender; I already killed you."_

_No matter what I say, I'm already dead._

"I won't..." he wheezed and managed a weak cough. "Tell you anything."

Endryn sighed heavily and moved the knife to carefully circle one of Vilkas' exposed nipples before digging it deep into his flesh and grinning widely at the cry of pain that escaped his prisoner's lips. "Alright. Let's start over, shall we? I'll give you one...more...chance...So...How many are there?"


	13. Repayment (Drogo II)

**A/N: **Just as a quick background note for anyone who might not know, there is a quest in Skyrim to clear Redbelly Mine of giant frostbite spiders. That will be nice to know once you keep reading. Also, for anyone who doesn't know, there's a Dwemer Museum in Markarth. As always, many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) **StarscreamII**.

**Disclaimer: **Everything belongs to Bethesda and GRRM except for Dar'Jazha.

**Rating: **T for minor language.

* * *

"Welcome to Shor's Stone, my lady." Drogo gestured to the town on the top of the hill as they rode over and Daenerys sat up slightly in her saddle to get a better view.

"Is it a caravan trading post?" She looked genuinely interested in his answer and he smiled, shaking his head. "No, a mining town. But it serves as a trading post of sorts. We're paid in goods for every piece of ore we mine."

"Could I help in the mines?" Dany looked at him with an eager smile and Drogo laughed loudly, smiling when his wife looked down in embarrassment and blushed.

"I'm sorry, Dany, I didn't mean any offense. If you'd like to learn to mine, I can teach you, but it's not exactly a job for a lady."

"No," she said quietly. "It's the job of a lady to be married off for her family's political gain and to give heirs to her lord husband." Her eyes met his and kept his gaze. "I've already fulfilled the first, so once I give you sons, who's to say I shouldn't find another use?" She turned forward again and rode just ahead of him, adding over her shoulder. "If I'm to be a queen, I need to be more than just a lady."

Drogo smiled, watching as she trotted into the town. He liked the woman she was turning into. Perhaps this marriage would grow to become something more than just a political maneuver.

"Filnjar?" The caravan followed ploddingly along behind Drogo as he rode into the settlement and then swung down off his horse to meet the Nord who had just emerged at the sound of his name.

"Khal Drogo..." The older man smiled and shook his hand. "So the savior of Shor's Stone returns. Here to make good on our favor for you?"

"No. I've told you that the gold you gave us was more than enough payment. We're just here to mine on our way up to Markarth if you have the work and the goods for us."

Filnjar nodded. "For you and your men, we have both." Looking over at Dany where she had managed to get herself down off of her horse to stand beside Drogo, he smiled and raised his eyebrows. "And who might this little lady be?"

"Daenerys Targaryen," Drogo responded. "My wife. We were just married one day past."

"Ah...newly married..." The older man had a suggestive twinkle in his eye that made Dany blush. "It's about time you found yourself a wife," Filjnar teased. "Are you finally going to settle down?"

Drogo shrugged. "I suppose it's a possibility. She was a...gift...from the Jarl of Riften for my caravan's support."

"So that's why you won't take my repayment..." The mine owner looked at Daenerys and smiled. "It would be hard to beat what your brother gave."

Dany smiled and nodded, though Drogo noticed that the gesture didn't reach her eyes. He turned away and yelled over his shoulder to save his wife from further discomfort. "Dar'Jazha!"

The Khajiit sauntered over a moment later and cocked his head to the side. "My Khal?"

"Gather five of our strongest men to work with me in the mines, assign some of the women to set up camp outside town for the families and then take a few people you trust to look through the goods Filnjar has to offer. You know what it is that we're looking for."

Dar'Jazha nodded and gave a shallow bow. "As the Khal commands."

As Filnjar retreated to his home with the men Dar'Jazha waved over, Drogo turned to Daenerys and gestured toward the mine. "Do you want to learn?"

Smiling, she nodded. "Yes, please. If you don't mind." He smiled back and nodded, leading the way to the nearby Redbelly Mine.

"Have you ever done any sort of manual labor before?"

He could hear the quiet hesitation in her voice when she responded and looked back to meet her gaze. "I...no. We always had servants..."

Drogo gave her a smile to show that he wasn't repulsed by the life of luxury she had lived and opened the door to the mine before gesturing her through. "It's never too late to change."

Dany gave him an unreadable expression and looked about ready to say something before changing her mind and walking into the small mine, coughing into her sleeve when she accidentally inhaled a lungful of dust.

"Is it always so...awful down here?" she gasped, looking up at him with eyes wide in horror. "It's so dark and...the bridge..." Stepping carefully with one foot onto the wooden bridge that led to the other side, she drew it back when the old wood creaked and swayed. "The dust..."

Drogo nodded. "Mining is a dangerous profession, my lady. Of course...this mine is one of the better ones."

"There are worse?"

"Yes. Cidhna Mine is the worst of course."

"How much worse could it be?" Daenerys asked almost hesitantly as Drogo grabbed a pickaxe and carefully helped his wife over the bridge to the ebony ore vein on the other side.

"Well, it's not only a mine, but a prison. It's rumoured that escape is impossible and as far as its history goes, that has proved true."

"Who's there that requires such security?"

"Madanach."

Dany frowned and looked up at him as he pushed back his sleeves and struck the rock with his pickaxe, clearing it away from the ore with a puff of dust that sent Daenerys stumbling backwards.

"Who?"

Drogo paused briefly in his work and raised his eyebrows. "You don't know who Madanach is? Is your brother a supporter of the Legion?"

"He hasn't sided with either army. Is the prisoner an Imperial soldier?"

"No. He's the 'King in Rags'. He led the Forsworn, his people, _your_ people, in the rebellion that Ulfric Stormcloak ended. Madanach was confined to the hell of Cidhna Mine after his capture and he's remained there ever since."

"My people?" She sounded surprised and Drogo frowned. How was it that he knew more about the fate of Skyrim's Breton population than she did? _Her brother must have kept her ignorant._

"Do you know nothing of the Forsworn?" He carefully removed a chunk of ebony ore from the rock and set it down before returning to work.

"Not much," Daenerys admitted, picking up the ebony and brushing off the dust with the sleeve of her blouse to inspect the dark glass. "The Reach is so far from home and..." she trailed off and added quietly. "I suppose it would be close to my real home, wouldn't it?"

Drogo nodded and picked lightly at a stubborn chunk of rock. "It's next to High Rock, yes. But far from Riften. So you know that the Forsworn are from the Reach."

"Yes. And I know that they're savages."

"If you talk to the right people, yes, though savagery is a matter of perspective. If you talk to some, Ulfric Stormcloak is a savage man, and yet, he has the support of over half of the Nords in Skyrim. The Forsworn are your people not only in race, but because of what they've been through. They were first driven from their home in High Rock and then from the Reach even though they were there before the Nords who drove them out."

"It sounds like you support their cause," Dany commented as she followed him to the next vein, carrying the already mined ore in her arms.

"When you're in the business of trade, you learn not to pick sides. I simply know what happened; you can decide for yourself which side you believe. Now, do you wish to learn to mine or did you just follow me to hear me talk?"

Daenerys blushed slightly and put down the ebony ore to step forward. "I'd like to learn if you'll teach me." Drogo smiled. "Of course. Now, you stand here, yes, just like that, and..." He angled her slightly and handed her his pickaxe, supporting her thin arms as she struggled to raise it. "And then just...strike it with the pickaxe to get to the ore inside the vein."

"Like this?" She asked eagerly as she tapped at the rock wall with his assistance. Drogo laughed. "Yes, though you can hit it a little harder." The proud grin he received could have served as more than enough payment for his work, though he knew his caravan would disagree.

Once they had managed to add one more piece of ore to their collection, Drogo gently took the pickaxe away from her and steered her toward the exit, smiling when she glanced back over her shoulder. "Isn't there more to mine?"

"Yes, but I have other men working. By the time I've surveyed the goods Dar'Jazha has selected, they should be done." Nodding, she followed him willingly out the door back into the small town and politely excused herself before heading off toward the camp that had been settled nearby.

"Did he offer anything of value?" Drogo asked as his second-in-command walked over with a small cart of goods.

Dar'Jazha shrugged slightly and stopped in front of the large Redguard man, pulling the top item out of the cart. "A bear pelt always sells for more than we pay to get them, and with winter coming...Dar'Jazha believes this could earn us a fair profit...yes?"

Drogo nodded in approval. "Yes. Good thinking. What else?"

"Two tusks from a mammoth. Khajiit did not ask where they were from...but should they have been poached by our supplier, it will not track back to us. Also, a set of leather armor crafted by Filnjar. Valued at about one hundred and twenty-five septims, but in times of war, it will go for higher, yes."

"Indeed. Anything else?"

"Yes, my Khal. This copper and onyx circlet...it would be worth much for a lady, Dar'Jazha thinks. Or for a man who wishes to purchase for a lady."

Drogo picked up the light circlet and absentmindedly turned it in his hands. _Daenerys might like this..._ He kept it in his hand and nodded curtly. "I will take this. Tell Filnjar to count it as his repayment to me for clearing the Frostbite Spiders out of the mine." When his partner nodded, he added, "Is that all?" Although it wasn't much, Dar'Jazha had selected the goods well and they would be able to make a sizable profit off of them if they sold them to the right people.

"Only this more," the Khajiit replied, pulling a relatively ornate, but common bowl from the cart and offering it to the caravan master.

Drogo blinked. "A bowl? Why would we need a bowl?"

Dar'Jazha frowned and flicked his tail as his ears went back. "You told Khajiit that in Markarth they pay great amounts for such items. Bowls, plates, bits of metal...that they were highly valued in that city, yes?"

Sighing, Drogo shook his head and handed it back. "I said _Dwemer_ bowls and plates, Dar'Jazha. There are collectors of Dwemer artifacts in the city who would pay a good deal for _Dwemer_ pottery. Nobody in Skyrim will pay us well for a common bowl."

The peddler sniffed haughtily and whipped his tail back and forth. "Dar'Jazha simply misunderstood. He will take this back to the smith and exchange it for...another piece of armor, perhaps?"

Drogo shrugged. "Whatever he has of the same value that will actually be worth something." Adding the ore he and Daenerys had mined to the cart, he glanced over his shoulder to see another one of the workers descending from the mine and looked back toward the Khajiit as he stood waiting patiently for additional orders. "Take the ore to Filnjar and ask him what it's worth, then make up any difference in what you have there with anything else he may have to offer us."

Dar'Jazha nodded, bowed, offered a customary, "Yes, my Khal," and then left with the cart of the goods as Drogo looked down at the circlet in his hands.

_It's nothing fit for a queen, but...it is a start._


	14. The Sweetest Thing (Sandor II)

**A/N: **No notes. I guess it makes sense that there would be less as we go on. Most of the reoccurring things were in the first round of chapters. Many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) **StarscreamII **and reviews are welcome.

**Disclaimer: **Everything belongs to GRRM and Bethesda.

**Rating: **M for strong language, sexual references, and the consumption of alcohol

* * *

Sandor sighed impatiently and crossed his arms, absentmindedly blowing a lock of hair from his eyes as he waited for Sansa to reemerge from their room. He was about to knock on the door when it opened and she slipped out, giving a quiet apology for the wait. Waving it aside, he put a hand to her elbow and steered her toward the door.

"We need to get as far as we can before nightfall," He explained as they walked out. Sansa nodded and let him lift her up onto Stranger's back before he swung up and settled behind her in the saddle.

"Do you have everything you need?" Sandor asked gruffly as he adjusted the white cloak fastened around his broad shoulders. Sansa nodded again, but she looked a bit distracted, and rather pale. He frowned and grunted. "Good."

After hesitating for a moment, he wrapped his right arm around her waist and nudged Stranger in the side, walking him toward the stone bridge that led across the Karth River. They were met there by the young Breton woman who had helped Sansa earlier that day and Sandor murmured a quiet command to Stranger when she approached.

"I had hoped you hadn't left yet. Faida told me to give this to you, Cat." The Breton girl handed Sansa a crudely carved hunting bow and the younger woman took it slowly, her confusion evident in the look she briefly cast toward Sandor. He shrugged, trying to keep his face blank as a surge of anger rose in his chest.

"Just in case you find that you need it for anything. Bows are always helpful for traveling." Her eyes flicked briefly toward the large sellsword and he scowled, internally glad that Sansa wasn't picking up on the use it was intended for. As if a hunting bow could kill him. He'd survived more battles than he could count; a seventeen-year-old maiden was _not_ going to lead to his end.

"Thank you," The Stark girl said politely to cover her confusion, smiling and then setting the bow across her lap along with her lute as the innkeeper's assistant returned back to the inn.

Spurring the big black warhorse forward again, Sandor frowned down at the girl in front of him. "Cat?"

"She asked my name. I...told her it was Catelyn. I didn't think I should use my own."

_At least she's half sensible._ "So you used your mother's? That's the second worst thing you could've done. You have the Tully look, little bird, and Catelyn Tully is a well-known woman. Next time someone asks, say something a little less likely to get us both killed."

Sansa wilted slightly and looked down at her hands. "Yes, my lord. I...I'm sorry...I...didn't think about it like that."

Sandor snorted. "Just be careful. I can only protect you when I'm around. If you're on your own, that's your own damn job."

"Is that what you are?" She asked after a moment. "My protector?"

_No. A protector wouldn't think of you as I do._

Sandor shrugged his broad shoulders. "I'm just a dog, girl. I follow orders. Right now all I'm doing is getting you back to your brother and collecting your ransom. I can't do that if you're dead."

"Why do you need to ransom me to Robb? You won the tourney held in my father's honor. The reward was more than enough to let you live a good life for several years." He could see her jaw tighten as she added, "Or did you spend it all on wine and whores?"

_Some, but not all._ "I was robbed." Clegane replied bitterly. "By some buggering outlaws on the road from Whiterun. The only thing they left me with was Stranger and the clothes on my back."

He detected a hint of amusement in her tone when she answered and glared darkly at the scenery before them. "I'm sorry, my lord. I didn't know."

Sandor's scowl deepened and he slowed Stranger down a bit when they approached a fork in the road. "Do you remember which way to turn?"

Sansa frowned and looked right and then left before slowly turning her head back to the right again. "That way..."

Narrowing his eyes, Sandor looked down at her and raised his eyebrow. "Are you sure? I can get out the map again. I _don't _want to turn the wrong way." That seemed to make the girl hesitate as he knew she wanted to get to Windhelm as desperately as he wanted to get her there, but she stuck to her initial choice and Sandor nudged his courser to the right with a noncommittal grunt.

The road was strangely quiet and it put Sandor a bit on edge though he tried not to show it. If the little bird had any reason to fear, she'd only be more trouble than she was anyway, and the last thing the Hound wanted was more trouble. In fact, he was already sincerely beginning to regret taking Sansa with him. Particularly every time she unconsciously moved her arse against his groin or moved her cloak to allow him an unhindered view down the front of her low-cut dress. It took what little self-control he had not to groan in frustration. She, of course, had no idea of the effect she was having.

The knowledge that she'd be worth more if she was still a maiden was the only thing that kept Sandor seated firmly in the saddle, grinding his teeth and tightening his grip on the reins every time she shifted between his legs. That and the fact that he didn't want to be like his brother.

After riding in silence down the road for the better part of an hour, Sandor stopped Stranger abruptly and sighed heavily. "This doesn't look right."

Sansa looked back at him, her face contorted slightly in pain and raised her eyebrows. "What?"

He frowned at her expression, but chose to ignore it. Knowing her, she had probably just sprained an ankle running to meet him at the mill. Gesturing to their surroundings, he replied with a gruff, "The area. I don't think this was the right way."

When he admitted as much, Sansa looked about ready to cry and he looked down at her in confusion. "What the fuck is wrong? I'm not going to hurt you, little bird. We'll just check the map and then turn around if we need to."

She just nodded and looked away, curling into herself and huddling over the lute and bow in her lap. Sandor watched her then shook his head and sighed, reaching down to retrieve the map from Stranger's saddlebag. After studying it for a moment, he sighed heavily and turned his courser around, increasing their pace to make up for lost time.

"I'm sorry," Sansa whispered after a few minutes of silence. When Sandor grunted, she elaborated. "For steering us in the wrong direction." Her voice was laced with pain and he just shrugged noncommittally, covertly looking her over for any sign of injury, but finding none.

They rode in silence back to the fork and this time took the right path, trudging onward until Sansa suddenly and rather violently doubled over with a sharp cry. With an exasperated sigh, Sandor pulled Stranger to a stop and ignored it when the big black warhorse snorted and pawed the ground impatiently. "What in Oblivion is wrong with you, girl?"

Sansa looked up at him and unconsciously shrank away from his gaze, murmuring quietly, "Nothing, my lord. Could we just...stop for the night?" She gestured toward a small cabin nearly hidden by the surrounding forest off to their left and waited for an answer.

Sandor frowned. "No, we can't stop. We already lost time getting turned around."

"Please..." she all but begged, a look of desperate pleading in her big blue eyes.

Sighing in impatience, Sandor threw his hands up and gestured vaguely in her direction. "Maybe if you tell me what's wrong, I can help."

On the verge of tears, Sansa shook her head. "No, my lord, there's nothing you can do. Just...please, can we stop?"

"No," he snapped, a bit harsher than he'd intended. "Not unless I know a bloody good reason why."

"Fine. If you must know, it's...it's my moon blood, my lord." She stammered, her face flushed in embarrassment as she met his gaze.

Sandor blinked. That was one aspect of a woman he had never had to deal with and he couldn't say he had ever wanted to. "Bloody hell..." he muttered under his breath, not expecting Sansa to snap back with the retort of, "Yes, it is a bloody hell, now please, can we just stop for the night? I should be fine by morning."

He nodded and steered Stranger onto the worn path that led to the small shack. "Aye. We can stop."

When they reached the shack, Sandor dismounted and walked inside, hand resting on the hilt of his sword in case it had already been settled for the night. There was a man asleep on the bed in the corner and he slowly approached him, frowning when he stood over him and got a good look at his face. It was quite obvious that the man was dead, but not for long because the stench of death had yet to permeate the air; for that, he was grateful.

"Close your eyes!" He called out, hefting the body over his shoulders and carrying it outside, checking to make sure Sansa had closed her eyes before walking behind the shack and hiding the body in a patch of bushes. As much as the thought of seeing the girl's face at the sight of a corpse in the bed she was to sleep in appealed to him, he didn't want to have to deal with her whining about it all night.

The Stark girl still had her eyes tightly shut when he walked over to Stranger and she only opened them when he placed his hands around her waist and lifted her not ungently to the ground. She stumbled slightly when her feet hit the dirt and one of her hands dug into the armor at his shoulder to steady herself.

"Thank you."

Sandor grunted and gave a curt nod, following her into the ramshackle cabin and sighing when she looked around.

"You can take the bed tonight. I'll sleep on the floor."

Sansa looked up at him and her pretty forehead wrinkled with worry. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, little bird. We certainly aren't sharing the bed. Besides, the floor is a place for a dog, not a lady." Picking up the iron dagger that had been stabbed into the top of the small set of shelves beside where he stood, he handed it to her and added, "Take this. It's easier to use than a bow. Quicker too. Might need it someday."

She nodded and lowered herself onto the bed in the corner, settling back against the flat pillow before asking for the saddlebag and withdrawing a book when he retrieved it and handed it to her. She left it sitting on her lap as she picked a twig from her curly auburn hair and brushed some dirt from her gown. Sandor laughed at the look of revulsion on her face.

"You're not much one for the world outside a castle are you, little bird?"

Sansa blushed and shook her head. "It's all just so...dirty."

Sandor snorted. "That's because there aren't maids to clean it." When she looked down at her hands in embarrassment, he shook his head. "I'll go get Stranger settled in for the night. If anything happens, just..." he sighed. "Scream."

Stranger was already nibbling contentedly on a patch of grass outside when Sandor went to join him and the courser whickered quietly when his master laid a heavy hand against his neck. He lifted his nose from the grass long enough to meet Clegane's eyes then shook his mane and pawed at the ground before resuming his dinner.

"I know," Sandor muttered. "I miss the battlefield as much as you do. Been too long since I've killed a man." He undid the saddle and tossed it into the shack, earning a yelp and then an embarrassed apology from the girl inside. Snorting in disgust, he shook his head and led Stranger down to the expansive marsh area that lay within walking distance from the shack, ignoring his protests at having been removed from his grass.

The warhorse quieted down a bit as he leaned down to drink from the water at his hooves and he nudged his nose against the mud when Sandor cupped some water in his hands and rubbed down the horse's legs.

"Tomorrow we'll be back on the road again," he promised, carefully inspecting the big courser for any sign of injury. "And then she'll be gone before you know it. How does that sound?"

Stranger turned his head at the sound of his master's voice and snorted. Sandor frowned. "Do you not want her to go? What's gotten into you? I'm the one collecting her ransom, not you. What's your excuse?" He'd been surprised by how relatively gentle the normally ill-tempered horse had been around the Stark girl; to be honest, it bothered him a bit.

Once Stranger had had his fill of the murky water, Sandor led him back up to the shelter and tied him just outside the narrow window, patting him on the rump before leaving him to continue his eating and walking back inside the shack.

Sansa had been reading on the bed in his absence and when he entered, she looked up, giving him a small smile. As friendly as she appeared, he could tell that her eyes were fixed on the right side of his face and he scowled, retrieving one of the bottles of ale from the saddlebag and sitting down on the floor beside the bed to drink.

The girl watched him for a moment before hesitantly asking, "Are you going to get drunk?"

Sandor snorted and didn't bother to meet her gaze. "Maybe. If I'm lucky. What's it to you?"

"I just...if we're going to leave in the morning..."

"I can sleep it off tonight," he growled, and then took another drink before asking, "Are you hungry yet, girl?"

She shrugged and thumbed at the corner of the page she was on. "I could eat. It might help a little."

Sandor nodded and got to his feet, walking over to the shelves against the wall that had enough food for dinner that night and more to keep for on the road. "How does stew sound?"

She sounded surprised when she responded. "That would be good, my lord. You...you can cook?"

Snorting, he nodded and put the one leek, one gourd, two carrots and clove of garlic he found in a separate pile before taking a rabbit down from where it hung from the ceiling. "Enough to be able to eat when there aren't cooks around. Can't you? Surely a lady knows how to make her own food." He already knew what her answer would be so he let a mocking tone creep into his words.

"No," she responded quietly. "It was always made for me. Perhaps you could...teach me?"

"I have better things to do with my time," Sandor responded flatly, lifting the large pot in the corner and leaving her alone as he trekked down to fill it up with water. Returning to the spot outside the cabin, he hesitated and stared down at the ground for a minute before looking toward the shack.

"Girl, get out here."

She appeared in the doorway a moment later, leaning against the doorframe for support as she raised her eyebrows.

"Go gather some sticks. We'll need to make a fire. Can you at least do that?"

"Yes, my lord, I...I think so. I've watched my handmaidens before."

Sandor shrugged and waved her off, pulling the dagger from his belt and retreating back inside to chop the vegetables and skin the rabbit. He was almost done when Sansa returned and she set to making the fire while he finished. Thankfully, she was able to get the fire started and he directed her in making a spit from which to hang the pot so the water could boil from a safe distance away.

"Could you help me, my lord?" She asked after a moment of struggling with the heavy pot. Sandor stared at the fire for a moment then forced his feet to move as he assisted her and then hastily moved away.

He could feel Sansa's curious gaze on him and he turned away, hating himself for showing his fear of the flames in front of her. "Once it's boiling, add the meat and vegetables," he said gruffly, handing both to her and scrambling for an excuse to get away from her stare. "I have to piss."

Stalking away to a more heavily wooded area, he sighed angrily and beat his fist on the trunk of a tree as he relieved himself against it.

It was humiliating to be bested in some way by an innocent little girl who still believed that the world was just as it appeared in her songs and books. He hated the way she stared at him, when she even had the nerve to look at his face. Not for the first time in the past one-and-twenty years, he wished his brother had just finished what he'd started.

When he returned, the stew was well on its way to completion and Sansa was sitting against the wall of the shack, book in hand.

"What nonsense are you reading now?"

"It's not nonsense," she replied defensively. "It's a history. Julienne let me have it. It's about Ulfric Stormcloak."

Sandor snorted and took the book from her, flipping to the last page and reading aloud. "In jeopardizing the treaty that so many sacrificed for during the Great War, the Empire was wrong. But what choice did they have, I ask you? Against the Bear of Markarth, Ulfric Stormcloak, "no" is not an answer." He tossed the book back at her and shot her a look. "What a kind and benevolent man you follow."

"He would make a great king," Sansa retorted. "He _will_."

"It sounds like you're in love with him."

When she blushed, Sandor laughed loudly, though not in amusement. "So that's it, eh? You'll follow a man to battle just because he's a pretty little lord? You really are a stupid little bird." Sansa's face was contorted in anger and she looked about ready to say something when Sandor interrupted. "If that's not it, then why do you?"

"Because...because..." She floundered for a moment then clenched her fists and rose to her feet. "He's fighting for our people! Everything he did was what was best for Skyrim and her people. Us!" She gestured angrily between them and then continued. "The Empire had no right to outlaw Talos worship. Ulfric was only defending the faith we've always kept."

Sandor grinned and he could tell that the sight put Sansa on edge. "Eight Divines...Nine. I don't give a fuck either way. Gods don't exist, little bird. If they did, surely there wouldn't be men like me in the world."

She looked about ready to agree, but merely stepped closer and poked an accusing finger against his breastplate. "So why do you fight for the Empire, then? You're a Nord, and you're fighting to rip apart Skyrim."

"Ignorant, little bird," he snarled. "I didn't choose to fight for the gods damned Empire. I was forced to. What difference did it make to me? I could kill people no matter which side I fought for."

He could tell that she hated every word he was saying. "Does it give you joy to scare people?"

Laughing, Sandor shook his head. "No, it gives me joy to kill people." He could feel the corner of his mouth twitch when he talked and he leaned down closer to the young woman in front of him. "Killing is the sweetest thing there is."

Sansa let out a choked sob and then threw the book at him before angrily yelling, "You're a monster!" and running away in tears.

Sandor watched her go and then swore, stalking back into the shack.

_So you've finally figured it out, little bird. That's all I am. A hideous and disfigured monster._

He almost went after her then decided against it and picked up the ale he'd abandoned earlier, drinking it all and then tossing the bottle aside as he retrieved the next.

It didn't hurt as much as the first time he'd heard it, when he was seven years old, forced to play with the sons of his father's liege lord, but it still stung, more from the fact that he knew it was true than from her words themselves. All those years ago, Jaime had laughed at him, mocked him, teased him, called him names until he was left crying alone in the corner of his room back at Clegane Keep, trying to keep his sobs quiet so Gregor wouldn't hear.

He could hear the girl's crying now, somewhere outside the cabin and it only served to fuel the bitterness that festered in his chest. At least now she knew the truth. The world wasn't full of knights and fair maidens, it was built of killers. Perhaps he'd taught her a lesson. She would've had to learn it eventually. Otherwise, she'd be burned as he had; forced to see the world as it truly was. As much as he hated her, even she didn't deserve that.

No one did.


	15. Breaking Point (Gendry II)

**A/N: **Just as a warning, my sister was 'thoroughly squicked' by the torture in this chapter when she was editing it, so if that's gonna be a problem for you, now you know what's coming. Also, the one passage in italics is a brief flashback. Many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) **StarscreamII**. Reviews are welcome.

**Disclaimer: **It all belongs to Bethesda and George R. R. Martin except for Endryn. He is my own creation.

**Rating: **M for strong language, relatively graphic torture, and character death.

* * *

It had taken longer than Gendry had expected for him to reach his breaking point. He was bruised, bloody, blind in one eye from the swelling of his facial injuries, all but crying out in pain with every movement and missing three fingers before he even spoke a word.

"Three." The word itself was barely audible, passed between bloody lips in a pitiful whisper.

"What?" Endryn stood up from where he'd been cleaning beneath his fingernails with the flaying knife still coated in Vilkas' blood and raised an eyebrow.

"Three." The Nord responded weakly, wincing as he tried to adjust the way his weight fell to reduce the strain on his wrists, rubbed raw from the shackles.

"Three what?"

"Three of us...still..." he coughed. "Cursed."

"Who?"

"Me...Aela..." He coughed again, spitting up blood this time. "Torvar."

"Torvar?" The torturer looked toward Gendry for an explanation.

"Nord. He's been a member for a few years. He's usually drunk, but I've seen him fight; he's good."

"And only you three?"

Vilkas nodded and Endryn sighed, squatting down in front of their prisoner. "Hm. But see...I don't believe you. I think you're lying to me. Are you lying, Vilkas?" He ran the knife lightly across one of the fingers that still remained on his sword hand and grinned when Vilkas was unable to repress a shudder.

"No. That's the truth, I swear it."

"Swear it on what? Your life? Oh, but...that's not worth much anymore is it?"

"I swear it on the Nine."

"I thought you worshipped Hircine."

"I swear it on all of the Daedric Princes."

The Dunmer sighed again and looked Vilkas straight in the eyes. "Hmm...I just can't seem to believe you. Why don't you tell me the truth this time? How many of you are there?"

Gendry saw a flash of terror in the Nord's pale blue eyes and he felt his own stomach twist in fear. Where was the honor and glory Tywin Lannister spoke of now?

"Four..."

Endryn spun the knife artfully between his thin fingers.

"Five."

It slid across his bound ankles and he choked back a sob. "Six!"

Gendry closed his eyes. He'd seen this happen to enough men since Endryn had been promoted to torturer to know that Vilkas would never make it out of this cell alive. It didn't matter what he said. By the end, he'd be telling the truth and any lie that he could think of to try and make the pain stop. None of it would make a difference and by the time he was teetering on the brink of death, he wouldn't even be able to tell the truth from the lies anymore.

"Which is it?" The Dark Elf's voice was smooth, quiet; dangerously so.

"Three..." Vilkas whimpered, cringing away from the weapon that moved to trace along the underside of his jaw.

Endryn smiled and stood again. "Is Jorrvaskr the only Companions hall?"

"Yes."

Red eyes met blue.

"No."

"Where else?"

Riften, Markarth, Winterhold, Windhelm, Falkreath...it wouldn't matter any. Endryn knew he had told the truth the first time. He only wanted to see him lose what pathetic shred of dignity—and sanity—he had left.

_"Have you ever seen a man broken before your eyes, Waters?"_

_"No."_

_The Dunmer grinned. "Watching them cry...scream...claw out their own eyes and try to tear out their own hearts to make it all stop...it's the most beautiful thing you'll ever see."_

He'd most certainly seen things more beautiful than the scene that played out before him.

"Morthal."

Smart choice. Morthal was small enough to where most of Skyrim's inhabitants—particularly those of non-Nordic descent—knew little about it, and far enough away to discourage sending someone to check the truth of his claim.

"Morthal...why there?"

"Because it's close to the capital."

Endryn raised an eyebrow. "And why not just have one in Solitude?"

Vilkas snorted. "Enough people know about our secret that it would be a disgrace to have a hall inside the same city where the High King held court."

Perhaps he had lost all of his dignity, but his mind was still sharp. If Gendry hadn't known he was lying, he would almost have believed what he was saying.

Endryn nodded and paced slowly to the other side of the cell. "You still haven't told me who you were hunting with. If it wasn't Aela, and she isn't the bitch you've fallen in love with as you say, then...well," He chuckled mirthlessly. "It certainly can't be Torvar."

Once again, Gendry detected the fear that rose up in their prisoner when Endryn broached this particular subject. As hard as he tried to come up with the answer to the question being asked, he couldn't think of anyone that Vilkas had to protect.

Vilkas looked down and then sighed heavily. "It's Ria."

Endryn nodded, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his thin lips. "Ria...I should've known. You know what it is that I find hard to believe though?"

"What?" It didn't sound as if he cared anymore.

"Well, it's just that...those of you with Hircine's curse...I've heard you worship the Daedra. Why wouldn't you with one as your lord?"

"I still pray to the Divines," Vilkas replied, his voice cracking from disuse.

"Do you?" The Dunmer laughed. "And do they hear you? How about now? Hm? Where are your gods now?"

When Vilkas stayed silent, Endryn shrugged and continued. "Ria though...it's fairly common knowledge that she no longer worships the Divines nor the Daedra. She's fallen prey to the new god that's being worshipped by my people: R'hllor, the Red God, the Lord of Light. His followers are fiercely loyal, so I somehow doubt she would've chosen to accept Hircine's gift."

Vilkas' life was unraveling before his very eyes and try as he might, he couldn't seem to tear himself away.

"Perhaps I've converted her," came the flat reply, earning a snort.

"Perhaps. Or perhaps you're lying to me. Again." He sighed heavily and shook his head in disappointment. "I wish you'd stop doing that. I suppose it's time for you to learn your lesson."

Before Gendry or Vilkas had the time to react, Endryn was sawing through skin and bone with a knife not suited for the task, smiling as his prisoner screamed in pain.

"Arya!" he yelled as the pain reached an unbearable level and he started to cry. "Her name is Arya."

Endryn didn't bother to finish his work and merely left the one remaining finger on Vilkas' right hand torn, bloody, barely connected and excruciatingly painful before placing his knife back down beside his tools and frowning. "Arya?"

Gendry was shocked. Arya Stark. Of course it was. They were together almost every time he saw them and although he always thought their relationship didn't extend beyond that of student and teacher in the training yard...he should've known.

"Waters, is he telling the truth?"

Gendry nodded mutely.

"Arya who? What house is she from?"

"Stark," Vilkas replied, trying in vain to hold his finger back in place against his mutilated hand.

Gendry could tell by the way the word fell from his lips that he had given up.

"Stark? Is she related to Robb Stark?"

The young Imperial answered to save Vilkas from any further pain. He could tell that this admission had broken him far more than any of the beatings had. It made him feel ill.

"Yes. She's his little sister."

Endryn raised his eyebrows and looked back toward Vilkas. "Does she know what's happened to her sister yet?"

The Nord gave him a flat stare and shook his head.

"She's been taken by one of Lannister's dogs. If he lets her live, she'll be whelping his bastard pup within the year; mark my words. I've heard she's a pretty thing and Clegane won't let her stay a maiden for long."

Vilkas looked about ready to get sick and Gendry silently wandered over to hand him a wineskin, nodding when he gave him a look of silent thanks and greedily drank up the strong liquor.

"So Arya's the third?"

He received a nod as response and then despite the wine, or perhaps because of it, Vilkas vomited on the floor of the cell, most of it landing on himself because of his position and inability to move.

Endryn looked at him in unveiled disgust and turned away.

"Waters, end his pathetic life. I have what I need to know."

He was about to turn and walk away when they heard a bloodcurdling scream and all three men froze, looking toward the source of the sound. A loud snarl followed the cry and Endryn paled as Vilkas wept behind them, whether from shame or joy Gendry wasn't sure.

"Do it," Endryn hissed, handing Gendry one of the daggers at his belt as he grabbed a sword from the weapon rack nearby.

"What's the point?" He dared to ask.

"Just do it!" The torturer roared. "Or I'll do it myself and add your corpse to the pile."

His heart pounding loud enough that he was sure it could be heard by present company, Gendry moved toward Vilkas and looked down at him, the hand holding the dagger shaking uncontrollably.

When their eyes met, the Nord look up at him with pleading, nodding slightly and then bowing his head and shifting so Gendry could get a cleaner strike; straight through the heart. Despite the sound of footsteps pounding down the stairs behind him and the screams of countless men echoing in his head, he somehow managed to steady his hand, the whole world going silent for one brief moment as he tightened his grip and closed his eyes, plunging the knife forward until he felt it hit flesh and then pushing with all his might. It was his first kill. A part of him hoped it would also be his last.

When he opened his eyes again, Vilkas had a sad but grateful smile on his face and he managed to meet Gendry's eyes one last time before falling limply to the ground.

"Good job, Waters. Now come on, we have to—" His sentence faded as blood dripped from his mouth and Endryn looked down in surprise at the sword protruding from his stomach. He hit the floor with a sickening thud.

The woman standing behind him was clad in the armor of the Silver Hand and the blade in her hand gleamed as Gendry knew the silver swords he forged did, but when she took the helmet from her head, it was Arya's eyes that stared back at him.

Tearing her gaze from his, she pushed past him without a word and fell to her knees beside Vilkas' body, a loud sob escaping her lips as she cradled him in her arms. "I'm so sorry," he heard her say before she placed a kiss against his cold lips and added a choked, "I love you."

As much as he knew he should be running before she recovered, Gendry found that he was frozen in place. Behind him, Endryn was loudly and slowly dying from the mortal wound seeping blood onto the cold stone floor.

When Arya stood up, he could see from her stance that there was a rage burning inside of her that rivaled the heat of any forge he'd ever worked at and she took a heavy breath, her sword dripping the blood of his dying comrade.

"I won't rest until you're all dead," she whispered, still turned away, her voice dangerously quiet. "Every...last...one of you..."

He ran.


	16. Lessons (Dany III)

**A/N: **Sorry it's been a while. We've been tearing apart our laundry room for the past few days and I was waiting on my lovely beta reader to edit the chapters I'd written (this one included) so that's why it's been longer than I would've liked. Anywho, here I am now with chapter 16. No fandom specific notes this time, so just read and enjoy. The conversation between Dany and Telrav is taken mostly verbatim from Skyrim up to "Wait here. I'll be right back with your reward.", so, that in particular does not belong to me. There's a little bit that I added myself, but it's not enough to claim that I completely changed the dialogue. Many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) **StarscreamII**.

**Disclaimer: **Either Bethesda or GRRM owns everything but Dar'Jazha. He's mine.

**Rating: **M for crude language and the mention of attempted rape.

* * *

It was around noon, and after having gotten the entire caravan turned around once that Khal Drogo declared a rather obvious flaw in the roads leading out from Riften and decided to abandon the path entirely, instead opting for a cross-country trek through the forest in the general direction of their destination.

Sighing heavily, Drogo frowned and glanced back over his shoulder before looking at Dar'Jazha where he rode beside the head of the procession. "Stay here with Daenerys. I'm going to go check on the caravan."

His partner nodded, but offered no comment, steering his horse beside Dany's as she watched her husband trot down the line toward the end. He must've seen the look of concern on her face because he offered a consoling, "Do not worry." When she turned back to look at him, he added, "The Khal is merely concerned for the safety of his people, and of our goods, yes. If he did not think we were safe, he would not have left Dar'Jazha as your only guard."

"I trust you with my safety." Dany replied with a smile. Although at first the Khajiit had made her a bit nervous, she trusted Drogo's judgment and therefore decided there was nothing to fear from his nearly constant companion.

Dar'Jazha laughed, although coming from him, it sounded a bit like a purr. "Then my Khaleesi trusts in skills that Dar'Jazha does not possess on his own. To keep one such as you safe from harm, many more than this one would be set as your guards. You are far too important to risk any harm."

"But you do know how to fight?" Even as she asked it, Dany realized that such a thing was to be expected when traveling across Skyrim, but it was yet another skill she wasn't graced with. It made her feel weak; inferior.

The Khajiit shrugged and flicked out his claws as he held up a paw. "If need be, yes. Dar'Jazha was taught when he was young."

They rode in silence for the next few minutes, listening to the creak of the wooden wagons, the dull thud of a hundred horses plodding over wet, grassy earth, and the occasional sound of Drogo's voice from somewhere behind them. After a moment, Dany looked back toward Dar'Jazha and raised her eyebrows.

"How did you and Drogo meet?"

Although he didn't turn his gaze, Dany saw one of his ears flick in her direction and his tail whipped to the side before he responded. "When Dar'Jazha was young, he ran from his homeland in Elsweyr and found himself here in Skyrim." Frowning, he added, "This land of the Nords is cold and not much to Khajiits' liking, but Dar'Jazha had nowhere else to go." He shrugged slightly. "Without any gold to pay for food, I turned to thievery and attempted to rob the caravan of Khal Drogo's father."

Daenerys frowned. His story was much like her own, with Viserys in Dar'Jazha's position. She was intrigued and disgusted by both the similarities and differences in how their stories had progressed.

"Dar'Jazha has never been a gifted thief, no, and Khal Bharbo caught him with his paws on a wheel of cheese. Bharbo's men urged him to throw me into some prison to rot, but Khal Drogo forbid it. He said he would take Dar'Jazha as a servant, to work off his crimes. I have been at his side ever since."

"Though as far more than a servant for a good many of those years since."

Dany smiled when Drogo rejoined them at the head of the caravan and he smiled back, gesturing to a break in the trees before them. "We should be back on a path shortly that will lead to the main road."

With the caravan master back in his spot, Dar'Jazha nodded in respect to both him and Daenerys before turning his horse around and trotting back to ride beside their carts of goods.

"He doesn't act as your equal," Dany commented, looking up at her husband.

Drogo shrugged and glanced over his shoulder toward the Khajiit. "He refuses to. He seems to think I saved his life that day and insists that the debt will not be repaid until he has died to save my own life." Smiling sadly, he turned back to the road and added, "I hope that day never comes. I've grown quite fond of him after all these years."

The next few hours passed without much further discussion beyond the polite upkeep of conversation straying to everything from the civil war to the rumours regarding the return of dragons to Skyrim. After passing a small mountain spring, trading with a pair of seasoned hunters there, and finally rejoining the main road to Markarth, they passed a small cave with a bloody goat head impaled on a stake outside.

Looking at the grisly trophy reminded Dany of what Drogo had said during their time in Shor's Stone. _"The Forsworn are your people not only in race, but because of what they've been through."_ As much as she wanted to refute his statement, she knew he was right. They may have turned to savagery and witchcraft to deal with their past and fight for their homeland, but they still had a strange sort of pride in themselves and a fierce determination to reclaim what had been taken from them. Dany almost wished she was more like them.

Drogo must have followed her gaze and worked through her thoughts because he casually commented, "They could benefit from a strong leader…One that isn't locked up in prison." before frowning and motioning for the caravan to slow its pace.

Craning her neck to see past Drogo's large red stallion, Dany spotted a wounded Imperial on the side of the road beside a broken cart and she involuntarily cried out, her hand traveling to her chest. "Is he alright?"

Khal Drogo didn't answer but merely yelled something back to Dar'Jazha who was soon passing commands down the line until the man had been given a small portion of food and the well wishes of the Khal's well-known caravan. When they kept moving, Dany stayed rooted to her spot on the path and before she realized what she was doing, she yelled loud enough for most of the caravan to hear, "I command you to stop!"

The look in Drogo's dark eyes when he met her gaze was unreadable, but he didn't counter her command or stop her when she got down off her horse and approached the man beside the road.

"Are they gone?" He asked weakly as she approached, reaching a hand out toward her when she knelt in the dirt beside him.

Taking his hand, Dany frowned in concern and looked him over, ignoring his question for a moment as she searched for injuries. "Are you okay?"

Wincing in pain when she lightly touched a bloody gash on his arm, he looked into her pale lavender eyes and shakily answered with, "Bandits attacked and ransacked my cart. Can you help me?"

Daenerys hesitated before glancing over her shoulder at Drogo, but he said nothing so she turned back and held the wounded Imperial's hand in both of hers. "Yes. What can I do?"

Smiling in relief, he gathered what little strength he had and gestured vaguely behind him. "My camp is nearby in the ruins of Nilheim. Get me there safely and you'll be rewarded."

Rewarded. That was always something that caravans wanted to hear. Even if it was only a monetary reward, they could always use a heap of septims to purchase more goods. Perhaps this would earn her some favor with the caravan.

Glancing back at Drogo for consent, she smiled when he nodded curtly and then exchanged a look with Dar'Jazha. She hoped he would be proud of her. This was something that a queen would do.

"I can do that." Dany's smile grew and the man mirrored her joy, leaping surprisingly nimbly to his feet before seeming to remember he was injured and hobbling a few steps away. She was amused by his excitement and supposed it was because he would be returning to his friends or family. Sometimes, she almost missed Viserys and wished she could do the same.

"It's just across the bridge and up that hill." When he took off at an awkward limping run, Dany hurried after him, slowing him with a hand to his arm when they reached the bridge. Obliging, he met her pace and then gave her a wide smile. "Might I know the name of the woman who has so bravely rescued me?"

"Daenerys Targaryen." She replied laughing. She'd never been considered anyone's savior. It was a nice feeling. "And you?"

"Telrav." Looking away, his smile grew and he took her hand before pointing in the direction they were moving. "We're close now. I can see the camp."

Sure enough, at the top of the hill, past a path of broken stone steps and shielded by a large outcropping of rock, there was a pillar of smoke rising and the occasional sound that signified the presence of a camp. Upon reaching the bottom of the steps, Telrav released her hand and appraised her for a brief moment with a strange glint in his eyes before giving her a thankful smile and soothing her sudden uneasiness.

"Wait here. I'll be right back with your reward."

Dany obeyed, waiting right where he'd directed and glancing over her shoulder to see if she could still see the caravan. They were out of sight by now and she sighed, wishing that Drogo was there to see her be praised by the grateful camp. She was trying to imagine the look of pride in his deep brown eyes when she felt a blade against her throat and a hand clamped over her mouth before she heard Telrav's voice beside her ear.

"Thank for your help, m'lady…"

The way his words slid from his lips in a silky purr made Daenerys freeze and she squirmed uselessly in his grip when she realized that she'd been led straight into a trap. She held out her hands and shook her head slightly to signify that she wasn't going to fight and when Telrav hesitantly moved his hand away from her mouth, she managed to whisper, "Please…just let me go. They don't have to know. If you let me go now I can return to the caravan and—"

"Save your begging for later," Telrav sneered, putting his hand back over her mouth and tightening his grip on her arm as he marched her up into the camp where Dany was horrified to see a group of bandits laughing and drinking around the large fire between them. When they entered the camp, the conversation stopped and the biggest of the men openly leered at Daenerys.

"She's a pretty one, ain't she? Look what Telrav brought us back, lads. A pretty little cunt to warm our beds for the night."

His words, and the laughter that followed, sent Dany into a panic and she flailed about in the Imperial's arms, feebly kicking at his legs and trying to bite his hand as she let out a muffled scream. Telrav swore when her teeth finally met the flesh of his hand and he yanked it away from her mouth before kicking her to the ground and laughing along with his companions when she began to cry.

"Do you want to take her first, Telrav?" The big man asked, grinning when their apparent leader shook his head and gestured with the hand that wasn't bleeding. "You can have the bitch. I want to make sure she's learned her lesson before I get to her."

Dany's wails only seemed to spur on the jeering laughter and she had almost given up hope when she felt the big man's hands roughly grasp her hips, but all of the sudden, she heard the _whoosh_ of an arrow and all hell broke loose. She didn't follow the fighting, but knew well enough what had happened when she raised her head to see the blood and corpses that surrounded her.

"Are you alright?" A large hand smoothed the silvery locks of her hair away from her face and then gently turned her head to face him. When Daenerys saw the look of concern in her husband's dark eyes, she buried her face in his chest and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, clinging to him as she cried in relief.

While Dar'Jazha surveyed the carnage and searched the camp for anything worth taking, Drogo sat with Daenerys, cradling her in his strong arms and quietly waiting as her sobs turned to the occasional sniffle and she looked up at him. "He…they…" She took a shaky breath and Drogo nodded as he wiped a tear from her cheek.

"I know. I knew before you got off your horse."

Dany looked at him in confusion and pulled away slightly. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged and took hold of one of her hands. "When you've lived long enough along the roads, you can smell a trap easily enough."

"But why didn't you stop me?" She wanted to tear herself away from him, to run away and not look back, to cry in shame and rage to the gods, but instead, she stayed in his arms, confused and helpless.

"Because you needed to learn a lesson," Drogo replied as gently as he could. Smiling slightly, he added, "And I wasn't sure if you would believe my warning. You have a gentle heart, and it enables you to block out the worst in people. That's both a gift and a curse."

Daenerys nodded slowly and then rose to her feet, looking around at the bodies that lay scattered about the still burning fire. It had taken a near brush with death, but she had learned the first of many lessons: trust no one.


	17. Defense Mechanisms (Sansa III)

**A/N: **Two notes for this chapter, but they're more...umm...cultural than anything. The first is that since I feel like it would be obnoxious beyond belief to count out hundreds of gold coins to pay for a suit of armor, I decided there are coins of varying value in Skyrim. Specifically, a five gold septim is mentioned in this chapter. Also, although women in Skyrim (the game itself) are programmed with bras when you remove their armor, bras should not exist in that time period, so that's why Sansa wears a corset instead, as she should. And that is all. Enjoy.

**Disclaimer: **It's Bethesda's and GRRM's.

**Rating: **M for language, sexual references and the consumption of alcohol.

* * *

When Sansa woke and realized she wasn't in her bed alone, her first thought was that she was back at home and it was Arya next to her. Her second thought was that she was still in King's Landing, sharing a bed with Shae on a night she didn't have a client after having stayed up all night listening to stories of the Summerset Isles while the older woman braided her hair. It wasn't until her tired brain caught up with her current situation that she considered it could be the Hound beside her.

After their argument the night before, he'd left her alone to cry for a while before finding her where she sat alone in the middle of the woods, handing her his roughspun handkerchief and a cold bowl of soup and then leaving again. The rest of the night had been passed in silence. She figured it was as close as he would get to any sort of apology.

But now...had he presumed that her shy thanks was some sort of...advancement? The thought was equally exciting and horrific.

Once she finally gathered the courage to open her eyes, the first thing she saw was the Hound sitting against the wall, sharpening his sword. The ruined side of his face was towards her and she studied it for a moment. It wasn't quite as terrifying by the light of day, though still just as ugly.

The next thing she noticed was the large dog lying on the bed beside her, its tail wagging happily when she met its gaze. Yelping, she sat up and put a hand to her chest, staring at the animal in stunned confusion.

Clegane snorted and looked up from his task with unconcealed amusement. "He was there when I woke up. I didn't want to wake you by moving him."

Sansa blushed and slowly lowered her hand to pat the dog on the head and then smiled slightly when he licked her hand. "That was...kind, my lord. Does he not have an owner?"

"Dead," the Hound replied, tossing a leather-bound notebook at her. "Mutt's name is Meeko."

Turning to the last page, she read silently to herself. _Well, after all my years living in these woods, it looks like the Rockjoint will finally be the end of me. I guess that's fine. All my friends are long dead. The only one left is poor Meeko. He was always a loyal companion, and I know he'll be able to take care of himself. I hope someday I'll see him again._

"Was he here when we arrived?" Sansa asked quietly. When Sandor nodded, she found herself almost feeling some sort of gratitude toward him. Despite what he _could've_ done, he had carried the body away before letting her in and had protected her from having to see the dead man. As horrible as he was, he seemed to have the occasional moment of compassion.

"Can we take him with us?" She knew the answer before she even asked, but allowed herself to hope she was wrong. It would be nice to have some company aside from the perpetually surly Lannister Hound.

"No. He'll only slow us down." When Sansa nodded sadly and ran her fingers through Meeko's tangled fur, Sandor sighed and then stood up. "Are you ready to go?"

"I..." She looked down at herself. Her dress was wrinkled and dirty from being worn and slept in for the past two nights now and she could tell that her hair was a mess even without a looking glass, but it wasn't as if she could do much about either of those things, so she nodded, earning a nod in return as Sandor walked out.

By the time she got up, hastily combed through her hair with her fingers and straightened her gown while the Hound was outside, gathered her things, and walked out, Stranger was saddled, fed, and ready, with his owner standing beside him, arms crossed over his chest.

"Ready?"

Sansa nodded and then looked down at her feet when Sandor stared at her. Clearing his throat, he added, "And you're...okay now?"

She wasn't sure if he was referring to having recovered after their fight or being physically alright after her abdominal pains—probably the latter since he looked so uncomfortable—but either way, the answer was yes, so she nodded.

He looked relieved when she met his gaze again and she stepped forward so he could help her up onto Stranger's back before mounting behind her and walking the courser through the trees and back onto the main road.

Sansa could hear a forlorn howl from behind them and she glanced over her shoulder to see Meeko sitting in front of the shack with his head resting on his paws. Her heart went out to the poor creature and she sighed. _I know what it's like to be alone._

"Where to today?" She asked cheerfully in attempt to lighten her own mood.

"Wherever the road takes us." Clegane replied with a shrug. "We should be to Morthal a little before nightfall."

"And how long will we stay there?"

"Why so curious about our plans all of the sudden?" He said warily, urging her to meet his distrustful gaze. "Expecting some knight to come and rescue you?"

Sansa sighed heavily. _If only._ "Just wondering, my lord." She responded curtly, sitting up straighter in the saddle so she wasn't leaning against the Hound for support.

A moment passed in silence before he gave her an answer. "We'll stay for about a day or so. Two nights probably. Since it's a bigger town than Dragon Bridge, there's more work to be done and more gold to be made. We run a higher risk of someone recognizing that pretty face of yours, but without coin we won't get anywhere fast so it's a risk we'll have to take."

Sansa wasn't entirely sure if pretty was a compliment or not coming from him, so she refrained from thanking him and merely nodded before turning her gaze back to the countryside.

She must have lost herself in her own thoughts because it felt like only minutes had passed before Sandor was nudging her roughly in the back with an elbow and gesturing toward a fort on the horizon with his other hand.

"Those men are your brother's."

"Pardon?"

"Look at the banners, girl," he snarled. "That's a Stormcloak fort. So when we get there, keep your head down, and not a word, do you hear me?"

"I..." She hesitated and then laid a hand gently on his arm to regain his attention. "Could you not leave me there? I'm sure they would pay you and then take me to my brother."

"Oh, they'd take you alright, little bird. But not to your brother. They're men that have been cooped up too far from a whorehouse for far too long. After they pay me, less than you're worth, they'll fuck you bloody and believe me, girl, you won't live to see your brother."

"But I'm a Stark!" Sansa protested in a whine. If she was to believe the Hound, every man they ran into wanted nothing more than to rape her and leave her to die. Was he the only one could see past what she had between her legs?

"Aye, you're a Stark, but their army ain't called the Starks now is it?" When she didn't respond, he snorted. "That's what I thought."

"We could use more food..." she suggested weakly, desperate for the chance to be among her brother's men. Perhaps one would recognize her as Robb's sister and take her from her captor. "I could wear a cloak and put the hood up. They might not recognize me if they can't see my hair."

"And what of me? A hood won't hide my burns and every Stormcloak knows that the Clegane brothers are on the opposite side of the war."

"Do you have a helmet?"

Sandor hesitated and then nodded. "Yes, but it won't do much good. It's as recognizable as my face." When she raised her eyebrows, he reached into one of the burlap sacks behind him and pulled out an ebony helmet carved to resemble a snarling dog's head. She absentmindedly wondered whether it had been made before or after he'd earned his nickname.

Staring at the helm for a moment, she realized with a bit of confusion that she'd seen it once before, though where, she wasn't sure. Even as she realized her own inability to remember, the answer came to her.

"Did you fight in the tournament to honor Lord Stormcloak when he visited the capital in the year 191 as an anniversary of his victory over Markarth, my lord?"

Sandor looked at her through narrowed eyes then nodded curtly. "Aye. It was my first tournament."

Sansa smiled at the fond memories of her own dealings with the event in mention. "And you dehorsed the Knight of Flowers in the joust." At the time, she'd been far too worried about the health of the handsome young knight to even bother noticing his victorious opponent.

Snorting, the Hound nodded again. "Got a good bit of coin that for that one. Made a few bets with some of the other fighters." After a brief pause, he added, "You were sitting with your lord father just below the High King. Your brother Robb was there too."

Completely taken aback by the fact that he had noticed and remembered her out of all the crowds that had been gathered there that day, she nodded, a bit guilty that she had failed to recognize him any sooner. In her own defense, he had never removed his helm at any time during the tournament.

"That's enough talk," Clegane said gruffly, interrupting her thoughts. "We need to keep moving." With that, he nudged Stranger in the side and the warhorse obeyed willingly.

They had barely walked more than a few feet when the bushes off to their right rustled suspiciously and a man clad in rusted iron armor emerged, pointing a weapon in their direction and signaling them to stop. He seemed confident until he got a good look at the man atop the horse.

"I...I heard you talking! I know she's highborn, so hand over your valuables or I'll gut you like a fish!" The man ordered, waving his warhammer to accentuate his point.

Not even bothering to slow Stranger's pace, the Hound sighed impatiently and loosened his sword in its scabbard, casting a look down at the wary outlaw with a muttered, "I don't have time for this," before adding a warning of, "Close your eyes, girl, you won't want to see this."

When Stranger stopped moving and she felt Sandor dismount behind her, she got up the courage to open her eyes again and almost got sick when she saw that the thief's head had been cleanly disconnected from his body.

After cleaning the dead man of his gold and tying up his iron warhammer to the back of Stranger's saddle, Sandor straightened up and held out a bloodied iron helmet for Sansa to see, giving her a look. "Alright, little bird, what's your plan?"

* * *

"_A bear there was,_

_A bear, A BEAR!_

_All black and brown,_

_And covered with hair!_

_Oh come they said,_

_Oh come to the fair!_

_The fair? said he,_

_But I'm a bear!"_

The first few men had already arrived at the gates before Sansa reached the third verse and she smiled at them beneath the large white cloak Sandor had given her to wear as she continued to strum the tune on her lute. Sandor walked a few feet behind, having abandoned Stranger a little ways up the road for fear of the warhorse being recognized.

"And down the road, from here to there..." prompted one of the younger soldiers, returning Sansa's cheerful grin. With a laugh, she gave a shallow curtsey to the man and continued.

"_And down the road,_

_From here to there,_

_From here! To there!_

_Three boys, a goat,_

_And a dancing bear!_

_They danced and spun,_

_All the way to the fair!"_

The commander arrived before she could continue and looked her over for a moment, accepting her curtsey with a nod and giving a shallow bow out of courtesy. "And who might you be?"

"Alayne Stone," Sansa replied. "Traveling bard."

"And him?" As if for the first time, a few of the soldiers noticed Sandor standing silently behind her and they looked uncomfortable at the realization of his presence.

"Sworn shield," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "We were just passing by on our way to Morthal, in hopes of picking up supplies here, perhaps."

"I'll pay you well enough to buy a feast if you'll warm my bed for the night," one of the men suggested. A few others laughed and murmured in agreement.

"I'm afraid that's not my trade." Sansa replied curtly, casting a brief glance back at the Hound when she heard him growl under his breath. "But I'll sing for your coin if you're willing to give it."

"I thought you said that wasn't your trade," the commander said with a smirk, earning snickers from a few of his men and a confused look from Sansa. Behind her, Sandor drew his sword and the soldier put up his hands. "Easy now...it was merely a jest. You're both welcome to the fort and enough supplies for the both of you, so long as you don't cause any trouble."

After nodding in agreement and establishing a general rule for where exactly they were allowed to go, they were given leave to explore and once Sansa had grabbed enough food for a modest lunch, they went to a small clearing just outside the fort and sat down, using Sandor's cloak to sit on.

"How many songs do you know, little bird?" Clegane asked through a mouthful of cooked beef, washing it down with a long drink of red wine.

"I'm not quite sure..." She carefully cut a piece of beef with the dagger Sandor had given her and then ate it properly with the wooden fork she'd retrieved from the fort's kitchens. "I learned the traditional ones at the Bard's College during my studies and picked up others from fellow bards or from books of songs. Why? Do you want to learn some?"

Sandor snorted and gave her a look. "Just trying to make conversation."

As Sansa momentarily abandoned her food to pick a handful of pink mountain flowers and braid them into a crown which she placed on her head, her companion stared absently into the forest and then turned back toward Sansa after a moment of thought. "How well can you defend yourself?"

"Not at all," she replied honestly, cutting a slice of cheese from the wedge they'd taken.

"Would you like to learn?"

"Would you like to teach me?"

He gave her a look. "What I'd like to do and what I will do are two very different things. I just want to know that you won't get yourself killed while I'm asleep or anything equally idiotic. I won't be around to protect you forever." Without waiting for a response, he added, "You still got that bow?"

"It's with Stranger. They might have one here we can use though."

Nodding in approval at that reply, he stood and put his helmet back on before walking into the fort and returning a few minutes later with an expertly carved hunting bow. "Get up."

Obeying, Sansa stood and waited for the next command, watching quietly as the Hound approached her and then silently handed her the bow and an iron arrow before removing his helmet and shaking out his long dark hair.

"Draw."

Hesitantly, self-consciously, she raised it and drew back the string as far as she could, looking back with a shy smile. Sandor narrowed his eyes and nudged her left foot forward with the toe of his boot then sighed and shook his head. "That's pathetic, girl."

"Then teach me," Sansa snapped back, a deep blush spreading from her cheeks down along her neck. Not wanting to see him laughing at her, she turned away and haughtily raised her nose, peering down the length of the arrow to a tree that stood a few meters away.

"Raise your hand." When he spoke, his voice was right beside her ear and she jumped slightly, earning a low chuckle. "Up higher, toward your cheekbones." She followed his commands and tried to retain her concentration when she felt his hands on her waist, angling her slightly. His touch was firm, but not ungentle.

"Like this?"

"Mmhm..." His hands moved to cover hers, one helping her draw back further than her minimal strength allowed as the other helped to steady her aim. "Then aim and release. When you're ready."

"Am I ready?" She breathed, her own heart beating much faster than the slow but somewhat unsteady rhythm she felt against her back. Sandor laughed quietly and shrugged. "Nothing will happen if you miss, little bird."

Sansa nodded and then squinted at her target before taking a deep breath and letting go of the string. It whizzed away and hit squarely in the middle of the trunk, quivering for a moment as she stared in mixed shock and awe.

"I hit it!" In a moment of elation, Sansa turned and almost threw her arms around Sandor, but reconsidered when he looked down at her with a raised eyebrow.

"Aye, but with my help. Try it on your own."

Running out to retrieve the arrow, she came back and lined herself up as the Hound had shown her. He'd already sat back down and resumed eating as he watched her from a safe distance. This time, when she released, the arrow went off to the left and straight into a row of bushes, sticking out at an odd angle and prompting a cry of dismay from Sansa.

Trudging off to retrieve the arrow, she reached for it and was surprised to find that it seemed to be stuck in something and when she nudged in the brush with her shoe, her foot hit what she discovered was a rabbit upon pulling it from the bushes.

She could hear the Hound moving to stand behind her when she cried out and when he reached her side, he snorted in wry amusement. "Congratulations. You've slaughtered your first bunny."

"It's not funny!" Sansa retorted, on the verge of tears, frantically checking to see if the poor animal had somehow survived her badly aimed shot.

Sighing, Sandor knelt by her side and pulled the arrow from its body, giving her a look when it twitched slightly and pulling the dagger from his belt. "Not dead yet, little bird, but it will be soon." Slitting its throat in one quick stroke, he handed her back the arrow and shrugged. "Where did you think the rabbit your cooks served you came from?"

"...the kitchens..." Sansa replied hesitantly, wiping the tears from her cheeks and laughing weakly at her own naïvety. "I just never thought past that."

"Well, now you can have the satisfaction of knowing that our next meal was killed by your own arrow."

Sansa frowned. She wasn't entirely sure that 'satisfaction' was the right word…she was seriously considering never picking up a bow again in her life.

"We should head out. Get to Morthal before sunset. Put the cloak back on."

As she tucked her curly auburn hair into the hood to hide her blatantly Tully looks, the Hound replaced his helmet and gathered the rest of their food before following her back into the fort and standing at her side as she stopped beside the commander.

"Thank you so very much for your generosity, ser."

"My pleasure," he replied with a smile before reaching into his coin purse and tossing her a couple of five gold septims. "That's for the song. Feel free to come back and finish it for us anytime."

"I'd love to," Sansa said sweetly, smiling back at the handsome soldier. After bidding farewell to him and his men, they rejoined Stranger where he stood pawing at the ground and snorting impatiently and started off toward Morthal in silence.

As the Hound had anticipated, they arrived a few hours before nightfall and tied Stranger to one of the posts outside the apothecary's shop before heading for the inn.

"Just stick with the sworn shield story, girl. It's more believable. People get suspicious when they see a pretty girl like you with an ugly mutt like me and hear anything besides 'guard'."

Sansa nodded quietly in agreement and approached the older Redguard woman behind the counter with a courteous smile.

"Good evening, my lady."

Looking up, she smiled in return and wiped her hands on the apron tied around her waist. "Welcome to the Moorside. Good to have some customers."

The offhand comment prompted Sansa to turn and look around. Sure enough, they were the only ones there aside from the owner and an Orc in the corner with a lute on the table beside him.

"There ain't much to offer here, but if you want a dry place to spend the night, I'll rent you a room. Twenty gold for the both of you. As for the room, take your pick."

"Thank you," Sansa replied courteously as Sandor paid for the largest room. "Why is business so slow, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Slow? No. It just ain't here at all. Few enough reasons to pass through Morthal before the war started. Now...Well, let's just say the front door doesn't get much use. It's just me and Lurbuk." She snorted and shook her head. "Fancies himself a bard, that one. He pays, so I let him stay. If I had any customers, I would be worried about him annoying them, but…" She trailed off and shrugged. "You're the only ones."

"I'm a bard," Sansa said with a smile, withdrawing her lute. "If you think it might get you a few more customers, I can play some for you on the morrow."

The innkeeper nodded and smiled slightly. "You're welcome to if you'd like. I won't pay you much, but you'll earn a bit of coin.

"Payment won't be necessary," she replied, beaming happily. "It would be my pleasure."

"As you wish. The name's Jonna. You need anything, just say the word."

Nodding her thanks, Sansa followed the Hound into their room and sat down on the large bed, tiredly rubbing at her eyes. Despite the early hour, she was exhausted from their journey and wanted nothing more than to fall asleep and dream of her home or her family; anything to escape where she truly was.

"Going to sleep, little bird?" He sounded as tired as she was and looked to be too as he stood against the wall, absently removing his swordbelt and tossing it onto the floor.

"Yes, my lord," she replied quietly, picking at the furs on the bed. After a moment, she looked up shyly and murmured, "I don't want to sleep in my gown again tonight. It's uncomfortable." Sandor met her gaze with uncomprehending stare and she blushed. "I can't undo the laces by myself..."

A strange look passed briefly across his features then left just as quickly as he stepped forward with a noncommittal grunt. Sansa turned so he could reach the laces and a moment passed before she felt the rough pads of his fingers brush across the nape of her neck. She shivered.

His movements were clumsy as his big hands fumbled with the intricate laces, but he succeeded in getting them undone and then quietly obeyed when she requested help with her corset as well, his knuckles accidentally brushing across her bare skin when he finished and pulled away.

Sansa tried to ignore the strange sensation building in places she'd never felt such things before and she thanked him quietly, clutching the now loose fabric of her bodice to her chest as she turned to face him. His eyes were darker than she'd ever seen them and his gaze wandered from her face for a moment before he swallowed and then looked away.

"Could you turn around please, my lord?" she whispered.

Sandor obeyed with a curt nod and she turned as well before shedding her dress and standing for a moment in her smallclothes, absentmindedly wondering if the Hound had kept his word. When she glanced over her shoulder, he was still turned away and she quelled the sudden and confusing sense of disappointment that bloomed in her chest.

"You can turn back around now," she said quietly, slipping beneath the furs and pulling them to her chin. When he did, he only regarded her for a moment before turning away and retrieving a handful of coins, to buy a drink or two she presumed. She had yet to see him without a bottle of wine or ale somewhere nearby.

"I'll be outside if you need me," he said gruffly as he turned once again to look at her. "Don't let anyone in. And keep this beneath your pillow." Stepping forward, he handed her the dagger at his belt and gave her a look. "Don't hesitate to use it."

Smiling slightly at his attempt to protect her, she took the blade and carefully slid it beneath the pillow. "I think I'll be alright, my lord."

"Not worried about you," he grunted, heading for the door. "I'm worried about my gold." And with that, he was gone.


	18. Valar Morghulis (Arya III)

**A/N: **As mentioned in a previous chapter, Sovngarde is the Nordic equivalent of heaven, but...as part of the curse that the Companions are afflicted with, all of those who are werewolves forfeit their right to an afterlife in Sovngarde and after they die, they go to Hircine's hunting grounds in Oblivion instead. They aren't really going to hell, since that's what Oblivion technically is, they're just going to the realm of their respective Daedric prince instead of that of the Divines. I hope that all makes sense. There's an allusion to that in this chapter so that explanation may answer possible questions. Also, the stuff in italics is just Arya remembering her last conversation with Vilkas and then later dreaming about what the man she met told her. And Bosmer is the official term for Wood Elf. Many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) **StarscreamII. **Reviews are welcome.

**Disclaimer: **Everything belongs to Bethesda and GRRM except for Jed who is mine.

**Rating: **T for minor language and the consumption of alcohol.

* * *

Skyrim had gone dark. It was almost as if the Gods themselves had blown out all the lights. When she returned to Jorrvaskr, the halls were as dark as the rest of the world suddenly seemed. It took all the courage she had to walk down the empty corridor to Vilkas' room. It was silent save for the sound of her own footsteps.

The room itself was exactly as she'd left it. Bowls of exotic ingredients adorned the shelves and tables. The potion of extreme stamina she'd jokingly given him for his last name day sat beside their bed. One of her boots remained on the bookshelf where it had landed in a hasty attempt to remove it. If she recalled correctly, the other one had just stayed on. The bed was still unmade.

Shaking away the memories, she gathered her belongings in a burlap sack and took a few things of his as well. To remember.

When she heard the sound of quiet footsteps and looked up toward the doorway, Jed was standing there, watching her in silence. She stood to meet his gaze and he stepped forward.

"You're going." It was a statement, not a question.

She nodded.

A moment of silence passed.

"I got there too late."

"Then there was nothing more you could've done."

"It was my own gods damn fault he was hunting alone."

Jed frowned. "Don't blame yourself. You weren't the one who held the sword."

"No. Gendry Waters was. Vilkas was right about him the whole time." She was quiet for a moment before sighing. "We got into a fight. That's why he left. He wanted to ask your permission for us to go to Winterhold and get married. I was too scared to say yes."

"That's understandable. You're still young, Arya."

Arya looked away and didn't try to fight the tears that welled up. "But...I never got to tell him that I loved him."

This time, the Harbinger smiled slightly. "You may never have said it, but he knew. We all did, even if you didn't yet." He held the young Nord woman against his chest as she began to cry and sighed heavily. "I understand why you need to leave. I promise I won't let the others try to bring you back. I expect we'll see you again when you're ready. Is his body still at the fort?"

Arya shook her head, sniffling and furiously wiping away her tears. "I burned it. It was the closest I could get to a proper funeral. You...you wouldn't have wanted to see the body. The things they did to him..." Crying anew, she clung tightly to the man in front of her and sobbed until there were no tears left to fall. When she finally pulled away, he let her leave without another word. A scrap of paper with a message scrawled in charcoal was the only sign of her departure. It included an apology. For everything she'd done and everything she hadn't.

* * *

The corner of the Bannered Mare was just as dark as the rest of her world, hidden in the shadows that fell over her as she drank alone, watching the revelry around her from a safe distance. Their happiness only served to fuel her rage.

Arya was drowning herself equally in both strong ale and her own thoughts when the arrival of a new customer drew her attention from the tankard before her. He was tall and slender, outfitted in tight red and black leather armor of expert make, his face shrouded from view by a loose-fitting hood. She could tell from his high cheekbones that he was of elven descent, but no other hints toward his identity were evident.

With an air of self-confidence, he strode toward the bar and seated himself on one of the stools, beside the Bosmer hunter, Anoriath, who had arrived nearly an hour before. Neither one of them spoke a word to the other. The mysterious stranger gave a gesture that earned him a flagon of wine.

_"Arya, I know you just want answers, but, try to be careful."_

Somewhere off to her right, Arya heard the topic of discussion once again turn to her sister. If the rumours she'd heard in the hour she'd been in the Bannered Mare were to be believed, Sansa had either been kidnapped, raped, or killed by either Tyrion Lannister, General Tywin Lannister himself, or one of the Clegane brothers. Whichever was true, it served her right.

"Care for a drink?" His voice was silk and steel, nearly as dangerous as it was alluring. The Bosmer beside him shrugged and scooted over his mug to accept the offer.

_"One day, you'll ask too many questions and wind up getting yourself into trouble."_

Once again, they lapsed into silence. The stranger had yet to touch his wine.

_"I'm a _true _Stark, Vilkas. We can hold our own."_

"Might a man challenge you to a drinking contest?" Anoriath gave him a suspicious look and then shook his head, mumbling something Arya couldn't hear.

_"You're dead."_

"One hundred septims to the winner." This time, the Wood Elf hesitated.

_Gods, Vilkas, you're dead._

"All right."

The other man poured them each a drink and then gestured to his companion. "You first."

Anoriath nodded slowly then narrowed his eyes and peered into his mug. It was easy enough to guess what he was thinking. Recently, the hunter had been growing more and more paranoid. For once, Arya could see a valid reason for his distrust.

_"You're dead."_

The stranger evaluated his expression then clicked his tongue in disapproval. "A man is merely offering the reward of gold to whoever can drink more ale. Ale that was purchased from this very tavern." When the hunter didn't falter in his mistrust, he sighed and downed his mug of ale then gestured toward the Bosmer's own drink. "Now you."

_"I'm not ready!"_

Anoriath frowned and Arya absentmindedly noticed that she was the only one paying any attention to the two men. All the other patrons were talking, laughing, drinking; in their own world somewhere far away from what played out before them.

_"Divines, I must be blind..."_

"And that coin," he motioned toward the hundred gold septim lying on the table. "Is it real gold?"

"Yes." He handed it over so the Wood Elf could test it. After biting down on the gold coin and then nodding curtly to show his acceptance of its authenticity, he finally relented and drained his mug of ale.

_"No, Vilkas, that's not it. I swear it's not."_

"All right. Your turn."

_"I just...I need time to think about…you. And me. Us. Everything."_

Arya could see the man smirk beneath his hood and he tilted his head in a slight nod of acknowledgment as he raised his tankard to his lips. "Valar Morghulis..."

_"You're dead."_

After five mugs each, the stranger downed a sixth and grinned broadly when Anoriath drunkenly declared him the winner and then passed out cold on the bar counter. From her vantage point, Arya could see the thin trail of blood that trickled out between his lips.

The mysterious stranger smiled and picked the golden coin up from the counter, flipping it in the air before catching it again and rising from his seat on the barstool. He withdrew a different coin from his coinpurse to pay the barkeeper then left as silently as he'd come. When he reached the door, he turned slightly and Arya found herself staring into the deep blackness of his hood. His teeth flashed in a grin and then turning on his heel, he was gone.

Standing up, Arya skirted around the crowd watching a brawl that had started in the center of the tavern and made her way outside. The street was empty, but somehow, she knew he was still there.

"Valor Morgulis...what does it mean?"

"Valar Morghulis." He replied, subtly correcting her pronunciation. "All men must die." His voice was right beside her ear and she whirled around to see him leaning casually against the doors of the tavern. He had removed his hood and she looked him over for a moment in silence. He was a Breton, though looked more elven in appearance than human, with sharp, handsome features, pale skin, deep blue eyes and shoulder-length hair, one side red and the other white.

"Who are you?"

"A man has the honor of being Jaqen H'ghar. And you? Does a girl have a name?"

She wasn't sure how much she trusted this Jaqen H'ghar. "I'm called Arry." It was the first name that came to mind.

He smiled. "Aye. So you _were_. But that is not what a man asked. Does a girl have a..._name_?"

She hesitated for a moment, eying him warily. "...Arya. Of House Stark. I saw what you did back there."

"Oh? But a man did nothing. The drink was not poisoned. A man drank his own glass first, a girl saw as much. His friend is only unconscious. It is not his fault if he never wakes."

"I saw what you wanted me to see. Everyone who was watching did. Not everyone saw Anoriath bite that coin though."

Jaqen's eyes sparkled in amusement and he smirked. "A girl is very observant. And now with her lover killed, she has nowhere to go. Perhaps a man can help."

Arya's heart lurched. "How do you know about Vilkas? Are you a part of the Silver Hand?" Her hand flew to the dagger at her hip, but he merely laughed.

"No. Jaqen H'ghar is of an order far older than that of which you speak. An ancient guild only recently restored to its former glory."

"And if I want to join you?"

"A girl does not know what she truly desires. She must follow her destiny. It will lead her where she needs to be." He stepped forward and took her chin in his hand before placing a kiss on the top of her head and pulling away after a brief moment to carefully gauge her reaction. "A girl will find what she seeks in the city of Dawnstar. When asked, answer, "Innocence, my brother."."

She frowned. "I don't understand..."

"You will," Jaqen replied. "When it is time." He turned to go then hesitated and bowed low. "Farewell, Arya of House Stark. Until we meet again."

* * *

She stayed the night at the Bannered Mare, tossing and turning as she tried to fall asleep, her conversation with Jaqen H'ghar playing over and over again in her mind.

_"A girl will find what she seeks in the city of Dawnstar."_

When sleep finally took her, she was back in the fort, standing above Vilkas' broken and lifeless body, though instead of Gendry, she was the one holding the knife. A sultry voice echoed softly in her head. _"Valar Morghulis. All men must die."_

Dropping to her knees, she began to weep, pounding on Vilkas' chest, tearing bloody gouges in his skin as she tried to revive him. Her kisses fell on cold, pale skin. It wasn't until she felt it fill her mouth that she realized it was blood falling from her eyes instead of tears. She retched, but all that came up was her own blood, painting her lover's wounds a macabre red against the white of his skin.

Screaming, crying, dying, she dragged his body over to the straw mat in the corner of his cell, staggering over to retrieve a torch and throwing it down, collapsing beside him as the flames swallowed him whole. She cried against his chest as he burned, felt the heat of the flames against her skin as they rose higher. The knowledge that she would die was calming. For once, she felt at peace.

Slowly, she rose to her feet and laughing, held out her arms. Her entire body was enveloped in flame.

_"A girl does not know what she truly desires."_

It was death that she desired. More than anything, she wished she wasn't alive to suffer from the pain.

_"_..._follow her destiny. It will lead her where she needs to be."_

The inferno before her began to shift and change into the shape of a man. Cloaked in flame, he walked toward her, pale blue eyes filled with rage. His hands wrapped tightly around her throat, choking her as she struggled feebly in his grip. She loved him. He had to know before she died. When she tried to speak, his hands tightened their grip and as she finally slipped away to Oblivion, she heard his voice beside her ear.

_"Until we meet again..."_

Panting and gasping for breath, Arya tore herself from the furs confining her to her bed as she fell to the ground, retching feebly into the chamber pot in the corner. She half expected to see her blood staining the bowl. Instead, it was ale and her half-digested dinner that came up.

Hugging her knees to her chest, she huddled against the wall in the corner and let herself cry. She had never believed in the interpretation of dreams, and for once, she was immensely grateful for her rejection of the Gods. She didn't want to know what her dream was supposed to mean.

She was still shaking when she managed to pull herself to her feet and she weakly gathered her things before leaving a few septims on the table to pay for the room and the ale and walking barefoot into the main room of the tavern before pushing her way out into the city.

The streets were dark and eerily silent as she made her way to the city gates. One of the Whiterun guards wished her safe travels and opened the gate for her. She stood outside in the cool night air for a moment before turning and walking along one of the roads out of the city. She wasn't sure what she was looking for, but she knew where it would be. Dawnstar. The city of nightmares.


	19. The Atrocities of War (Drogo III)

**A/N: **Okay, some of the things that happen in this chapter may seem randomish, but they were actually the exact things that happened to my sister and me when we walked through the route from Riften to Markarth that Dany and Drogo are taking to figure out in-game time and stuff. Which was actually really fun. We did that for the SanSan journey too. Anyway, that's why the bridge happens and stuff like that. That's all, so just read and enjoy now. Many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) **StarscreamII**. Reviews are appreciated.

**Disclaimer: **Everything belongs to Bethesda and George R. R. Martin except for Dar'Jazha. He is mine.

**Rating: **T for suggestive themes and a reference to both drugs and alcohol.

* * *

"I'm sorry about last night..." Drogo brought his lips down to brush across his wife's collar bone and she sighed, tangling her fingers in the dark locks of his hair.

"They were going to rape me." She tried to push his mouth away from its path down her chest, but ultimately failed.

"I wouldn't have let them."

"Oh...well thank you for that."

He chuckled at the sarcasm in her tone and rested his chin lightly on her stomach. He wasn't sure if he was imagining things, but it looked as if she'd gotten a bit bigger since their wedding night. It wouldn't surprise him if she was already pregnant, but she hadn't mentioned any changes so he'd stayed silent on the matter.

"I won't ever let you get hurt again, Dany." He'd married her to rescue her from Viserys' abuse, but hadn't considered that he may have led her into an even harder life.

Sighing again, she looked down at him and smiled slightly. "I know that. I trust you."

"Trust is a start, but I like to think that someday you'll learn to love me."

Dany's smile grew and she pulled him forward to give him a shy kiss. "Mmm...I think I'm getting there."

"Need any more convincing?"

She blushed, but didn't say no, so Drogo bent his head down to kiss her neck. A moment later, he was interrupted by Dar'Jazha who appeared at the entrance to their tent.

"Pardons, my Khal," he bowed, "Khaleesi, but the caravan is ready to leave. Might Dar'Jazha remind you that we are on a schedule..."

Giggling at the look on her husband's face, Daenerys pushed him off of her and propped herself up on her hands, seemingly unconcerned by her state of undress in front of the Khajiit peddler.

"Thank you, Dar'Jazha. We'll be ready in a moment or two."

Nodding, he withdrew and Drogo pushed himself off of the ground, tossing Dany her clothes as he dressed himself and fastened his curved glass blade to his hip.

"Where are we headed today?"

"I'm not sure," Drogo replied honestly, absentmindedly running a hand over his beard. "Helgen is the next city we'll reach, but I don't know how long it will take to get there. There are various factors that may delay our arrival."

"Such as?" Dany asked innocently, looking up at her husband as he stepped out of their tent and ordered a few men nearby to get it packed up.

"Such as whether or not I'll be able to keep my hands off of my beautiful wife," he responded, grabbing her around the waist and kissing her soundly. Dany laughed and pulled away with a blush. "Well then I doubt we'll get anywhere very quickly."

Chuckling and nodding in agreement, Drogo lifted her up onto her horse and mounted his own before yelling the command to start moving and kicking his horse to get it walking.

The morning was crisp and clear, a cool breeze occasionally ruffling the manes of the horses and lending a slight chill to the air. There was still a good amount of grass showing beside the road they traveled on being far south enough to still have the warm weather that was so rare in the northern provinces, but if the sky ahead of them was any indication, the weather would take a turn for the worse by early afternoon as the northern snows began to fall.

Unsure of whether or not his wife was used to anything but the warm days and cool nights of Riften, Drogo made a mental note to have a cloak made for her from the bear pelt they'd traded for with Filnjar.

He was about to call Dar'Jazha up to give him that very order when an Orc slipped from the shadows beside the road and approached the caravan. He swore under his breath when he saw Dany involuntarily flinch.

"Halt! What's your business on this road?"

The Orc put up his hands to signify that he was unarmed and his eyes flickered over to where Dany sat staring down at him warily. He smiled, a rather hideous sight given his race, and approached her.

"Greetings, sister. You look a bit weary. I have something to help you relax, if you're interested."

She glanced over at Drogo in confusion. "What does he mean?"

Before he could reply, the Orc supplied an answer of his own. "The finest skooma, the sweetest moon sugar...At a fair price, of course."

Somewhere during the exchange, Dar'Jazha had silently ridden up to join the Khal and he swung down from his horse. "Dar'Jazha will take care of this one, my Khal. Let it be no trouble to you or the Khaleesi."

Fully aware of the Khajiit's skooma addiction, he nodded slightly and let the highly illegal transaction take place without comment. He could tell from the expression on Daenerys' face that she didn't approve, but he didn't imagine she understood the extent of a skooma addiction or the predilection for such a habit in the Khajiit race.

Dar'Jazha returned a moment later with six bottles of skooma, three bowls of moon sugar and one bottle of sleeping tree sap. He put the latter two groups in one of the wagons and returned to his saddle. "Purchased for fifty septims, all of it."

Drogo nodded in approval. To the right customers, it would sell for a far greater amount and bring in a considerable profit for the caravan.

"You can't sell that!" It took him a moment to realize that the outcry came from Dany and he turned toward her with a frown.

"What?"

"That's illegal. You can't sell it. It...it wouldn't be right." A stubborn determination burned in her pale lavender eyes and Drogo sighed, smiling slightly.

"We're not selling it illegally. Alchemists pay a great deal for moon sugar. It's said to have restorative properties to one's magicka if brewed properly with additional ingredients by a skilled alchemist."

From the look of embarrassment that crossed her features, he gathered that she knew what he was referring to, as she should have. While waiting in the main hall of Mistveil Keep on the day of their wedding, he had briefly conversed with the court wizard, a young woman skilled in both alchemy and enchantments, though a bit scatterbrained to say the least. She'd asked him to retrieve a few items she'd 'misplaced' about Skyrim. As if he had the time.

"I'm sorry, my lord," Daenerys said quietly, looking down at her hands. "I was wrong to assume."

Shrugging, Drogo started the caravan off again and glanced over at his wife. "No apology necessary. You don't yet know me well enough to know the exact nature of my trade. I assure you that all transactions made are in compliance with the laws of whichever hold we happen to be trading in."

_Except for you. _He ventured to guess that purchasing a wife was generally frowned upon. And yet his reasons had been honorable. He only hoped that she would one day understand if she didn't already.

They had only ridden a few paces when Daenerys gasped and pointed off to their left. "What is that?" Following her finger to a mill visible on a nearby farm with an eerie blue glow coming from its fields, he smiled.

"Sarethi farm. We made a trade agreement with the Sarethi sisters a few years back. Their harvest brings in a good profit."

"What do they grow?" She was sitting up slightly in her saddle, trying to get a better view of the farm from their position on the road above it.

"Nirnroot. Ever heard of it?"

"In passing. I heard Wylandriah telling Viserys she needed a shipment of some for one of her experiments. I'm not sure what it is or what it's for, but he seemed annoyed at having been asked to procure it."

"Well, as the name suggests, it's a root, and I believe from my dealings with it that it's highly poisonous, and also, very rare, which probably explains your brother's annoyance. What small amount is available for purchase always comes with a high price." He gestured to Dar'Jazha to signal a slight detour and they veered off the road toward the farm.

"Then why would anyone want to buy it? I mean, if it's poisonous."

"To slip it in someone's stew perhaps?" He stifled a laugh at Dany's horrified expression and shrugged slightly. "A skilled enough alchemist can extract the beneficial properties from it. We'll stop and see if they have a crop for us. One of the Sarethi sisters might be able to explain better than I can."

Slowly, they made their way off the road and down the hill to the farm with only their two horses, Dar'Jazha's, and one half-empty cart. Avrusa Sarethi met them halfway there.

"Always a pleasure, Khal Drogo. What brings you back this time?"

"My wife," he replied, getting down off his horse and helping Dany down after him. "Avrusa, this is Daenerys Targaryen. Dany, meet Avrusa Sarethi."

The young Breton stepped forward and offered a warm smile. "Hello. It's a pleasure to meet you Lady Sarethi. My husband was trying to tell me of your Nirnroot crop, but thought you would be better equipped to do so."

Avrusa raised her eyebrows and looked up at Drogo. "_Lady_ Sarethi? This is a good wife you have here, Drogo. Keep her around."

He chuckled and smiled down at Daenerys. "I plan to."

Nodding, the Dunmer apothecary took the younger woman by the hand and led her over toward the magnificently glowing Nirnroot field where she stopped suddenly and put her hands on her hips.

"Aduri, why haven't the fields been tilled as I asked?"

Her younger sister looked over from where she was leaning against the windmill and made a face. "Because it's boring. The fields will be fine...you don't have to dote over them so much."

"Boring?!"

Dany and Drogo exchanged a look and the latter backed away a few steps. Dany giggled.

"That food is paying for everything. If we lose even one crop of it, we may starve or be forced to beg and I won't have that!"

Aduri sighed and rolled her eyes. "Alright, I understand. I'll do it tomorrow, just get off my back."

When the older sister turned back to her fields with a frustrated sigh, Drogo stepped forward. "I have enough men to harvest all of your fields in a few hours."

Avrusa looked relieved, but narrowed her eyes slightly. "What would you ask for in return? I won't have much coin to pay you until this crop has been sold."

"One third of the Nirnroot crop and we'll call it even. That'll fetch us a fair enough price at the Hag's Cure once we reach Markarth."

Nodding, the Dunmer extended a hand and they shook on it before Drogo returned to the caravan and asked for help from a few able-bodied young men. As promised, the entirety of the Sarethi crop was harvested and neatly arranged in carts ready for the marketplace just before midday.

It wasn't until they had taken their share, said their farewells, and started off down the road that Daenerys spoke up. "I like them."

Drogo looked over and raised his eyebrows. "Hm?"

"The Sarethi sisters. I like them. They're making their own way in the world."

"Well, Avrusa is. Aduri just wants to get out of Skyrim."

Dany shrugged. "I can't say that I blame her. You've made me start thinking of going home again. Truly home."

Drogo smiled. "Whatever your decision, I will stand by your side."

A sudden start from one of the horses brought their conversation to an end and Drogo dismounted, running to the head of the caravan to join Dar'Jazha where he stood at the edge of a bridge.

"What happened here?"

The Khajiit shrugged and twisted his tail nervously around one of his paws. "They wear no armor. This was not a death in the war, but a senseless killing."

Sure enough, there were three commoners dead on the bridge with a stray dog nudging its way between the corpses in search of food. Drogo shooed it away before sighing and hefting one of the bodies over his shoulder.

"Move them out of the way. We need to come through here and the children don't need to see this."

Dar'Jazha obeyed without comment and only spoke again once they had been dragged to the side of the road. "Who would do such a thing?"

Drogo shrugged, but couldn't help thinking of the rumors regarding the Hound that had apparently gotten loose from Lannister control. If he was anything like his brother, the blood of the three innocents could easily be on his hands. "I don't think I want to know," he replied honestly.

"We should bury them."

Turning around, he was startled to see Dany standing behind him looking sadly down at the bodies beside the road. She looked up and added, "It won't take long."

Dar'Jazha nodded his agreement and helped Daenerys drop the corpses into their graves as Drogo dug them. The caravan behind offered no complaints for the delay in travel, all as solemnly silent as their masters.

By the time they were finished, it had begun to rain and the weather did nothing to brighten their moods as they returned to their horses and trudged slowly through the mud. The rest of the caravan seemed to sense what had happened and a little girl placed a handful of flowers over one of the mounds of dirt as she passed. A few others were in tears.

The rest of the day passed in silence as the road brought them past a small shack filled with alchemical ingredients that were quickly loaded into the carts and a courier hurrying on his way with a 'very important letter', through the mountains and a veritable blizzard to the Redguard and his Khajiit and Breton companions, and finally, at sundown, to their destination.

Drogo sighed and gestured forward as the gates were opened. "Welcome to Helgen."


	20. The Bear and the Maiden Fair (Sandor 3)

**A/N: **Hey, so I know this is quick since I just posted yesterday, but I've had a set of like seven chapters on hold just waiting for my sister to read through, and now that she's finally done them, I'll post one each day (minus tomorrow and the weekend because I'll be lacking computer access) until I reach the point where I'm not at the rate I wish to be at anymore. Just so you know. As for notes, first off, for those who aren't familiar with the Elder Scrolls calendar, Sun's Dusk is the equivalent of November. And the Great War was a war fought between the Imperial Legion and the Thalmor. It was that war in which Ulfric Stormcloak gained his fame. And you'll meet him eventually. And last but not least, you get the rest of The Bear and the Maiden Fair so yay! It starts where Sansa left off in chapter 17 just so you don't have to read the beginning again. It's a fairly long song. Many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) **StarscreamII**. Reviews are appreciated.

**Disclaimer: **It's all Bethesda's and George R. R. Martin's.

**Rating: **M for strong and crude language, sexual references, and the consumption of alcohol.

* * *

Each day started the same. He woke, one hand gripping the pommel of his sword with white knuckles as his chest heaved with the effort of each breath. Usually, that was followed by a stream of curses as he realized he'd just woken from the same nightmare that always plagued his nights of insufficient sleep and he got up, drinking away the lingering memories until he felt awake enough to start his day. The morning of the 27th day of Sun's Dusk was no different.

Peeling his fingers one at a time from his sword, Sandor sat up and pushed his sweat-soaked hair back from his forehead, swearing unintelligibly under his breath. "Gods damned fucking bastard..." He wasn't entirely sure if he was talking to himself or the ghost of his brother that still lingered in the fragments of his scattered mind.

A quiet noise caught his attention and he looked up to see the little bird still asleep beneath the furs on the bed, one hand tucked beneath her pale cheek to cushion her head as she slept. She stirred slightly at the sound of his voice but didn't wake.

Rising from the floor and rolling the ache from his joints, Sandor stood and irritably fastened his swordbelt around his hips. After Sansa had fallen asleep the night before he had spoken with the innkeeper about work around town and she'd recommended the lumber camp near the marsh, so there he went.

If he hadn't needed the coin to support his constant need for wine and the whims of a highborn girl, he might've told the Redguard woman to fuck off and spent his day drowning in a bottle of sour red. Instead, he found himself chopping wood for the second time in three days, his muscles complaining with each stroke of the axe.

At the very least, he was willing to do menial labor as a way to work out his anger. There was something satisfying about watching the wood split in half with a savage blow from his axe. And it was as close as he could get to killing something.

He'd hacked his way through enough wood to make at least two hundred septims with only one break to drink a bottle of wine and peel his tunic off to enjoy the cool autumn breeze before he heard her behind him, nothing more than the gentle clearing of a throat.

"Good morning, my lord. Did you sleep well?"

Her empty chirping was irritating and he grunted by way of reply, swinging the axe down hard.

"I...I think you've worked enough, ser..." She said it with a hint of concern and didn't realize her mistake until he corrected her.

"I'm not a ser. And what would you know, girl? You've never worked a day in your life."

"I worked for Lord Tyrion."

Snorting, he turned to face her, his arms crossed over his chest. He absently noted the way Sansa's eyes widened at the sight of the half-naked man standing in front of her and she hastily looked away, a bright blush painting her pale cheeks before he spoke. "You don't know what Tyrion Lannister had planned for you, do you?"

"I'm not sure what you mean, my lord."

"Tywin Lannister meant to make his son the Lord of the North. You do know that your father's family once ruled in Windhelm before the Stormcloak reign don't you?"

Sansa nodded and frowned. "Yes, but, Tyrion could never be Lord of the North. That's Ulfric Stormcloak's position, and if he were to die without heirs, it would go to my brother Robb."

"And then to your cripple brother or the six-year-old. So if Stormcloak and the Young Wolf were killed, and Eddard Stark's eldest daughter were to be married..."

She paled at his insinuation and shook her head. "No, Tyrion was in love with one of the..." She blushed slightly. "Whores...at King's Landing. He would never..."

"In love with a whore?" Sandor snorted. "I don't doubt it, but no, you're right. He wouldn't. And he didn't, in direct disobedience to his father's orders. If it had truly been up to Tywin Lannister, you would have married the Imp and secured his line to the throne of Windhelm by getting pregnant with his heirs."

She was quiet for a moment and then, "Lord Tyrion never told me."

"No, I expect he didn't. There were a lot of things the Lannisters kept from you."

"That you know I suppose, being so close to them." It was said with a hint of derision.

Ignoring her reply, he extended a hand and waited until she realized what it was he wanted and handed him the light grey tunic on the bench beside her. Pulling it on over his head, he pushed a hand back through his tangled hair and then looked down at the Stark girl.

"Have you already broken your fast? I left a few septims on the table for you."

She nodded and hesitantly met his gaze, all contempt vanishing in the face of his reluctant kindness. "Yes, thank you, my lord." Her eyes dropped after only a few seconds and Sandor wondered at the back of his mind why she still feared his scars. She'd certainly spent enough time staring to get used to them.

"Good. And have you spoken to anyone?"

"Just Jonna, my lord. Is it unsafe to speak to the guards?"

Sandor shrugged and starting walking toward the other side of the town. "I don't think Morthal's declared for either side of the war yet, but I'd say more than a few of the guards here are the right age to have fought in the Great War so their allegiance is probably to Ulfric Stormcloak."

Sansa seemed to perk up a bit at that comment, presumably due to the mention of the rebel Jarl and she looked up at him. "Did you fight in the Great War?"

Sandor scoffed and gave her a look. "I wasn't even thought of when that war started. How old do you think I am?"

Sansa blushed visibly and stammered, "I...I'm not sure, my lord. Perhaps..." She hesitated, suddenly unsure of herself. Sandor found it quite amusing but before she could embarrass herself any further, he snorted and supplied her with the answer. "Eight-and-twenty."

Her eyes widened and she looked up at him in what appeared to be surprise, her lips coming together to form a quiet, "Oh."

He ignored her and breathed a sigh of relief when they reached the apothecary's shop. Amazingly, Stranger was still tied to the post where they'd left him, albeit looking worse tempered than usual and Sandor soothed him with a murmur of praise for his good behavior. He was checking for any signs of injury when there came a call from behind him.

"Hound!"

It seemed the inevitable had happened.

Turning, he looked at the man who'd shouted his name and snarled angrily in his direction. "What the fuck do you want?"

"I heard you deserted."

"You heard right."

"Heard you took and fucked the Stark girl. Right in front of Tywin Lannister."

Sandor stared at him in disbelief. _What the bloody hell... _"Took, yes, fucked, no." He nudged Sansa with an elbow. "Go on, girl, tell him you're still a maid."

She stepped forward and looked at the guard. "I am ser, still a maiden. Lord Clegane has not taken me by force."

The other man chuckled and looked at the big sellsword. "And not by consent, either, eh?" Her cheeks flushed.

"Is that all, ser?" Sandor asked flatly. "Or did you want to check the state of her maidenhead yourself?" Sansa protested quietly, but Clegane silenced her with a look that clearly said, 'I won't let him touch you'.

The guard eyed him for a moment then said, "I'm the best warrior in Morthal, and that's no boast."

Sandor heard the challenge in his tone and almost smiled to himself. Finally, the chance to hit something. "Best warrior in Morthal, eh?" He scoffed. "My mother could beat you in a fist fight. And she's dead."

"Want me to prove it? I bet a hundred gold I can take you, bare-handed."

Smirking, the sellsword unbuckled his swordbelt and handed it off to Sansa, ignoring her warnings against what he was about to do. Whether she liked it or no, he needed this.

"One hundred. Deal."

The older man grinned and rolled his shoulders. "Just your own two hands. Weapons and magic are out. Now let's see what you've got!"

He immediately lunged forward, striking out with his left fist. That was his first mistake. One of the earliest things the Hound had learned as a boy was to never make the first move.

The blow was easily dodged by the bigger man and without warning, he snapped his arm forward, catching the other man across the nose. Blood sprayed across the ground and Sandor was vaguely aware of a horrified cry from somewhere nearby.

A crowd had begun to form around them and Sansa was yelling something to the effect of "don't hurt him!" in a panicked tone. The sound of her voice provided enough of a distraction to earn a well-placed punch to Sandor's jaw.

Spitting the blood from his mouth with a snarl, he kicked out at the other man and then ended him with a sharp crack across his cheekbone. He was down for only a moment before taking his opponent's offered hand and wiping the blood from his nose with a wide grin.

"You're a real fighter. I like that. If you ever find that you need my steel by your side, just ask. The name's Benor."

Sandor nodded curtly and rubbed at his jaw with his thumb, trying to assess the damage. "You're not so bad yourself. Next time, don't be so obvious with your punches though. I knew they were coming even before you knew you were throwing them."

Benor smiled wryly, but looked pleased to have been given advice from such a well-known warrior. Everyone from Solitude to Riften had heard of the Hound, even if his name did have more infamy than respect. If he was going to respond to the comment, he was interrupted by Sansa as she pushed her way through the dissipating crowd to Sandor's side.

"Are you hurt?" She looked up at him with a hint of concern and gently touched her fingers to his jaw, frowning when he winced and pulled away.

"I'm fine, little bird. Nothing's broken, but it's like to bruise by morning."

"If you want, I can—"

He cut her off with a shake of his head and swatted her hand away from his face. "What I want you to do is go back to the inn. Enough people have seen you and at least one's recognized you as a Stark so it's best to lay low for the rest of the day. We'll leave in the morning and they'll all just forget that they saw you. Morthal's in no rush to have either the Legion or the Stormcloaks coming through, so they won't report our being here."

Sansa nodded obediently then hesitated and looked up at him shyly. "I promise I'll stay in the room while you're working, but...when we spoke to Jonna last night...she said I could sing for her and any patrons that stop by. May I still do that, my lord?"

Sandor watched her fidget under his gaze for a moment before nodding. "Aye. But stay inside until then. I'll come and get you once I'm through."

She beamed happily at his reply, looking truly happy for the first time since he'd taken her away from King's Landing. "Thank you, Lord Clegane." Not waiting for a reply, she hurried off toward the inn and nearly ran someone over in her haste to get inside.

Shaking his head and sighing, Sandor trudged back over to the lumber camp to collect his payment. He didn't doubt that Sansa would obey him and stay locked in their room all day so she wouldn't see that he was planning on spending the rest of his time drinking wine back at the inn. For the first time since he'd swept her up onto Stranger's back that night of the fire, he would be alone with his thoughts and a bottle of sour red. But of course, even that would only last until nightfall.

* * *

_"Oh, sweet she was and pure and fair,  
The maid with honey in her hair!  
Her hair, the maid with honey, in her hair!_

_The bear smelled the scent on the summer air!  
The Bear! The Bear!  
All black and brown and covered with hair!  
He smelled the scent on the summer air,  
He sniffed and roared and smelled it there!  
Honey on the summer air!"_

The sound of such a well-known and beloved song floating through the thick fog that covered Morthal attracted patrons just as Sansa had said it would. The inn was packed full of travelers and villagers alike by the third verse alone and both Sansa and Jonna had their hands full with all the men who had suddenly appeared in search of wine and company.

Sandor was seated in the farthest corner from the door, slowly draining a flagon of wine as he watched Sansa play her lute beside the bar and sing the songs she knew so well.

Thanking a man whose coin had landed on the bar beside her, she smiled brightly and continued to sing.

_"Oh I'm a maid, and I'm pure and fair,  
I'll never dance with a hairy bear,  
A bear! A bear!  
I'll never dance with a hairy bear!_

_The bear, the bear!  
Lifted her high into the air!  
The bear, the bear!"_

As she sang, the crowds began to follow her words and the young ladies present were swept from their perches by the knights that had wandered in. The room filled with feminine laughter as the inn was turned into an uncoordinated and rather cramped ballroom. Sandor kept well away from the festivities.

_"I called for a knight!  
But you're a bear!  
A bear! A bear,  
All black and brown and covered in hair!_

_She kicked and wailed, the maid so fair,  
But he licked the honey, from her hair!  
Her hair! Her hair!  
He licked the honey, from her hair!"_

_Her hair does smell like honey. _He pushed the thought aside with a swallow of wine. The movement caught Sansa's gaze and she paused to catch her breath and give him a small smile, her thin fingers still plucking the tune out on her handcrafted lute.

_"Then she sighed and squealed and kicked the air,  
She sang: My bear so fair!  
And off they went,"_

She paused briefly and looked expectantly toward the dancing couples. They seemed to know what was expected of them and men and women alike finished the song alongside the soft, clear voice of the young bard.

_"The bear! The bear!  
And the maiden fair!"_

Sansa stopped singing, breathless with laughter and handed her superior lute off to Lurbuk who took up the next song, sparing all the guests from his singing as the young Nord weaved back through the crowd to where Sandor sat watching her. She beamed happily when he raised his eyebrow and extended a delicate hand.

"Might I have this dance?" Her cheeks were flushed from the wine she'd drank before her song and her blue eyes sparkled as she looked down at him, a soft smile gracing her full lips.

_Divines, she's beautiful._ Sandor snorted and shook his head, taking a long drink of his wine. "No, little bird. Go find someone else."

She sat down beside him and brazenly reached out to lift his chin as he always did with hers, looking at him from beneath her eyelashes. "I don't want to find someone else. Don't you want to dance with me?"

_Gods, she must be drunk. _"I..." He swallowed down the lump in his throat with a swig of wine and then mumbled. "I don't know how."

"You don't know how to dance?" He shook his head and glared at her when she laughed. "I was never taught."

"Well then let me teach you!" She stood back up and grabbed his hands, trying to pull him up from the table but ultimately and expectedly failing.

"_No_, girl," he repeated forcefully, pulling away and shaking his head. "I said go find someone else."

Much to his chagrin, she did. It was mere moments before she was prancing about the tavern with a young man's hands wrapped around her waist and the joy he could never give her written across her delicate highborn features.

Scowling, Sandor turned around to face the table and drank straight from his flagon of wine. If she preferred the pretty lads, so be it. He knew her fleeting interest in him was only borne of the strong red wine.

After pausing in his drinking for a moment to wonder why he even gave a fuck, he glanced over his shoulder to see Sansa laughing as she was twirled in the air by the young knight. When the song ended, so did their dancing, but she stayed with the boy, talking with him and giving him her sweetest smile. She glanced over toward Sandor's table once, but her smile wavered when she caught his gaze and she quickly looked away, blushing slightly.

In time, another song was started and Sansa was swept off once again into the crowds. Sandor watched her twirl about from his darkened corner and ordered another flagon of wine when she was passed off to a new partner, this one even more handsome than the last. He was already halfway through the refilled wine when the song ended and she stumbled over to him, dizzy and breathless from her dancing. She smiled widely when she caught his gaze and he snorted.

"Aren't you just the picture of innocence?" Her nose wrinkled slightly at the smell of cheap wine on his breath and he laughed harshly. "You know, there isn't a man in this room who doesn't want to shove his cock up your pretty little highborn cunt; whether you like it or no."

Sansa's eyes went wide with fear at his words and her pale cheeks blushed red at his coarse language as she stepped back, the grin fading quickly from her lips, her gaze searching his face with unmasked horror. "You're horrible!"

Sandor stared at her for a moment then grunted and took a long pull from the flagon. "I'm honest. And drunk. Go on to bed, little bird. I'll be there shortly." When he caught the look of terror etched into her pretty features, he scowled. "Gods, I'm not going to rape you, girl. That was the wine talking."

Standing up, he pushed her forcefully but not ungently toward their room and downed the rest of his wine. "Shut the door after you and push something in front of it. I have something I need to do, but it won't take long."

He saw Sansa's gaze flick over to the two whores standing by the wall and she quickly looked away, avoiding his eyes. The thought of fucking another woman next door to where the little bird was sleeping did nothing to improve his mood. "Just go," he snarled.

Once the door was shut behind her, Sandor sighed and glanced over toward the far wall. A pretty auburn-haired whore met his gaze and then whispered something to the woman beside her before giving him a thorough once-over, a sultry smile gracing her full lips. Although once he would've taken her without a second thought, the idea was making his stomach turn and he staggered unsteadily across the inn floor, shouldering his way out the door and into the cool night air in a feeble attempt to clear his head.

He was sitting on the edge of the dock absently sharpening his sword when he heard footsteps behind him and a moment later, Sansa sat down beside him, peeling off her stockings and dipping her bare feet into the water. She was quiet for a few minutes before a wayward torchbug flew straight into her hands and she closed them gently with a smile.

"Have you ever caught a torchbug?" Sansa asked, peering between her fingers at the glowing insect.

"No." Sandor replied flatly, not pausing in his task.

"Not even when you were young?"

He put down the whetstone and sighed, wincing when a burst of pain shot through his head. He would regret drinking so much come morning. "I wasn't young for very long."

"What do you mean?" Sansa asked with a laugh, letting the little bug crawl out of her fist and wander the length of her finger as it fluttered its tiny wings. "Everyone's young for the same amount of time. Once you're twelve as a boy, or when you first flower as a maiden, you're considered a man or a woman fit to be wed."

When he stayed silent, she frowned in realization and raised her gaze to the left side of his face. "How old were you?" she murmured quietly.

"You should get some rest, little bird," he replied gruffly, evading her question. "We leave by first light."

"Then you should get some rest too, Hound," she said softly, swinging her pale calves off the end of the dock. Sandor's gaze moved to her exposed legs and he looked away when she caught him staring, forgetting to ask if she had been mocking him.

"Fair enough." Putting his sword back in its scabbard, he stood and hesitated for a moment before offering a hand. She smiled timidly as she took it and helped herself up. Her fingers were soft and smooth in his calloused hand.

"I'll take first watch."

Sandor raised his eyebrow and looked down at her. Her pale skin seemed to glow in the moonlight and her eyes danced in the shifting light of the shadows around them. "First watch? What's there to watch for, little bird? We're staying at an inn."

"Okay, but at least let me sleep on the floor first." He moved to protest, but she raised a hand to silence him. "Don't tell me it's not uncomfortable, or that it's no place for a lady. If you're so concerned for my comfort then..." she hesitated and it looked as though she might have been blushing, though he wasn't sure if it was simply a reflection from one of the torches along the dock. "Well, the bed is big enough for two..."

He stared dumbly at her for a moment, having lost much of the blood flow to his brain and then he firmly shook his head, more to clear his thoughts than to deny her statement. "That's not a proper thing for a maiden to be saying."

"I worked in a brothel, my lord," she replied with a hint of amusement, ignoring the mocking tone to his words. "I know the difference between sharing a bed with a man and sharing myself with him. I'm _only_ suggesting the first."

Her emphasis on the word 'only' made him cringe. At least she knew to keep him in his place.

"Aye, well, you still don't have me convinced. You'll take the bed, I'll take the floor, and only if I wake up too stiff to move will I consider a change in those arrangements at the next place we stop that has a bed."

Sansa nodded her agreement and balanced carefully on her toes as she walked along the creaky wooden dock past the guard barracks, humming quietly to herself.

"What song is that?"

Looking up at him mid-twirl, she put her arms back at her sides and smiled. "Oh. Still The Bear and the Maiden Fair, I'm afraid. I imagine the tune won't be out of my head for a while now."

Sandor nodded in agreement.

"But...it's one of my favorites you know." She said it very matter-of-factly and the sellsword was suddenly reminded of just how young she was. Still a girl in truth though she looked enough like the woman her body declared her to be.

He grunted noncommittally.

"It was the first song I learned to play on the lute. And the first song I ever danced with a boy to." She laughed and leapt gracefully ahead a few feet. "I was five at the time and thrilled at having been asked to dance by an older boy. He was a squire I think." Regarding her companion for a moment, she raised her eyebrows and slowed to meet his long but unhurried strides. "Do you really not know how to dance?"

Sandor shook his head. "I didn't lie, girl. I was never taught and never found a reason to learn."

"Not even as an attempt to woo a maiden fair?" Her tone was teasing and he absentmindedly noted that the wine had made her loose-tongued.

"They never wanted to dance with the bear," came his flat reply. He avoided her gaze. "Besides, I've never had a reason for 'wooing'. Only women I've ever been with were whores." _Why am I telling her this? Gods damn it, Clegane, get ahold of yourself._

Sansa didn't have a reply to that so she stayed silent, walking beside him with her boots and stockings swinging gently from her hand. After a moment, she looked up at him. "I'm sorry."

He didn't have to ask her what for. He knew, but he humoured her anyway. "Sorry for what?"

She shrugged slightly. "The world hasn't been kind to you."

Sandor snorted in wry amusement. "The world isn't kind to anyone. It'll chew you up, spit you out, and if you're lucky, you'll at least land on your fucking feet."

Though she didn't reply, her expression changed and he got the feeling that she was starting to see his words for the truth they were.

The inn was nearly empty when they returned and she quietly led him to their room, passing by the young Imperial she'd danced with earlier in the evening. She met the lad's gaze for a brief moment before opening the door for Sandor and then closing it behind her as she entered after him. Their eyes met for a brief moment in the dim light from the candle beside the bed and Sansa slowly raised herself up on her toes before brushing her lips across the burned side of his face.

"Good night, Lord Clegane. I hope your dreams are kinder."

Although he dismissed her wish for him with a noncommittal grunt, it seemed to have come true for that night was the first night in nearly one-and-twenty years that he didn't dream of fire. Instead, he dreamt of her.


	21. A Striking Resemblance (Gendry III)

**A/N: **First off, I would like to apologize for a mistake I made in a previous author's note that I will now be going to change. Gendry grew up in Morthal, not in Markarth. I said that in story but messed it up in an author's note somewhere. Also, this has overlap with the last chapter, so that's why Sandor and Sansa show up at the end. That being said, the realized similarity at the end (you'll know it when you get to it) was the only thing I could think of. If anyone has anything better, let me know. My best friend said that trying to find a similarity between Sansa and Arya was "like comparing Beyoncé to Sarah Palin", so...it was a little difficult. Anyway, enjoy reading. Many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) **StarscreamII**. Reviews are both welcome and greatly appreciated.

**Disclaimer: **Nothing is mine. It all belongs to Bethesda and George R. R. Martin.

**Rating: **T for suggestive references and the consumption of alcohol.

* * *

He wasn't sure where he'd been running or for how long until the gates of Whiterun rose from the morning gloom to meet him. Although his first instinct was to stop and relieve his burning lungs and aching muscles, he knew he would never be safe so close to the Companions, to _her_, so he moved on.

Dawn found him resting briefly in the Western Watchtower, sharing a bottle of wine with the Imperial soldiers there before turning back to the road and starting off at a jog toward the Northwest. Whether it was the wine, the rest, or the time that had cleared his head he wasn't sure, but he did know that he had managed to develop enough of a plan to stop blindly fleeing from who—or, _what_—was after him.

He would go to Solitude: the place where everything that had led up to this moment had started. Somehow, he would convince General Lannister that the werewolves of legend were a very real and very dangerous threat to not only the Empire, but all of Skyrim. Perhaps the news of the Gallows Rock massacre would have reached the Legion by the time he arrived in Solitude and would give the general the necessary push to take action.

Gendry was jostled from his thoughts when he tripped on a wayward cabbage in the middle of the road and his hand flew to his sword when he saw a nearby cart with more of the produce scattered about. With no one in sight, he could only assume that whoever the cart belonged to had been forcefully removed from their goods and swiftly disposed of—body and all.

The answer to his wary guess was standing a few feet away, creaking as it swayed gently in the morning breeze, a macabre grin on its face, if one could call it that.

Never having dabbled in any sort of magic, let alone Necromancy, Gendry wasn't sure how skeletons were raised from their graves and reanimated, and if he were to be honest, he didn't think he wanted to know.

Disconnecting its skull from its spine with a savage blow from his sword, he watched as it crumpled into a pile of harmless bones and then dispatched its companions nearby before scavenging the area they'd inhabited, taking only the gold he deemed necessary to keep his pack light and his pace quick.

The exertion put on his sleep-deprived body from the fight did nothing to increase his progress and he only managed to make it a quarter of a mile further before he collapsed on the ground in an area he deemed safe and fell into a restless sleep.

The noon sun woke him and, though haunted by his lingering nightmares, he set off at again at a run, following the roads to Solitude and checking anxiously over his shoulder whenever he heard a sound that indicated any sign of his being followed. Each time, it was nothing more than a rabbit or a stray mudcrab that had wandered too far from its shore.

On one occasion, a pack of wolves appeared to his right and at the sound of their howls, he panicked, running ahead a few paces and throwing himself into a small shack, thankful to find it abandoned when he ducked inside and pulled the door shut behind him.

He was more relieved to find himself alone because he was ashamed of having run away rather than wanting to avoid human contact. If anything, he wanted desperately to be around fellow Imperials, or even Redguards, Bosmer, Orcs...anyone who could separate him from the beasts that plagued his thoughts. And yet...at the same time...when he plunged his dagger into Vilkas' heart, he knew it was a man he was killing, not a beast. For once, they had been separate. And the girl, Arya...

Wiping the angry tears from his eyes with the back of his hand, he turned to face his surroundings and began to gather what he could use, clamping a carrot between his teeth as he scooped some alchemical ingredients and a few bottles of wine into a large sack.

Hoping that the shack's owner wouldn't return to find him looting his home of all edibles and anything of value, Gendry opted to eat his lunch back on the road and left the house behind, settling into the grass nearby to eagerly bite into a raw potato.

The warm sun helped to settle his frayed nerves and he allowed himself to relax for a few brief moments, getting lost in his own thoughts.

Although it was the promise made by Arya Stark to kill each and every remaining member of the Silver Hand—a promise he knew she could accomplish given her motive and skills—that had him running for his life, he couldn't help but be intrigued by the young woman.

Unlike so many others before her, the beast blood she possessed was a separate part of her, though one that fit well with her stubborn tendencies and ferocity in battle.

Yes, she was captivating beyond doubt, and yet Gendry forced himself to remember that he was now on the list of men she sought to kill, and likely at the top. Thinking of her too often would only serve to bring his life to a premature end.

Gathering his things, he managed to turn his thoughts back to the journey at hand before continuing off toward his destination, determined to reach somewhere safe and populated before nightfall.

Unfortunately, the heat of midday didn't last long as the comforting warmth gave way to cold wet snow, falling thickly over the ground and crunching beneath his boots. Not for the first time, he found himself wishing he had been born in his mother's homeland. He'd heard the weather was milder in Cyrodiil.

Though the snow slowed his journey, he managed to spot the tops of Morthal's roofs just as the sun fell beneath the horizon, hurrying toward the light flooding from the inn.

The town brought with it a flood of memories of his childhood and Gendry slowed his pace as he passed by the guard barracks that his mother had often sent him to while she worked in the tavern, entertaining the male patrons on the side for just enough gold to buy food for their next meal.

When he shouldered his way into Moorside, he was surprised to find it warm, crowded, and filled with laughter. From what he remembered there wasn't a less inviting inn from Solitude to Riften; the tavern before him seemed transformed.

It seemed a bard was the source of the change, a pretty young Nord playing her lute and singing from her spot beside the bar. She had just played the finishing chords of The Bear and the Maiden Fair when he caught sight of her again, making her way through the crowds to join a large man shrouded by the shadows of the corner he occupied.

Gendry settled against the wall on the opposite side of the inn and watched their exchange from a distance; something about the girl was eerily familiar and he began to feel a sudden and unexplainable fear rising in his chest.

She was holding onto the hands of the man sitting on the bench before her, a man he recognized with a start as the Hound, a recent deserter from the Imperial army. Although he felt that he had heard something recently about the man's actions, he couldn't immediately recall what he had been told and impatiently pushed it aside.

If the girl was acting that way around the Hound, she must've been a whore, paid to show interest and even, if he was interpreting their interaction correctly, affection, though that wouldn't explain why he felt he recognized her as much to his chagrin, and the amusement of his fellow soldiers, he hadn't yet been with a woman. Somehow, he couldn't make himself believe that she might be his wife.

Clegane must've denied her whatever she was asking because with a slight frown, she turned back to face the dancing couples strewn across the inn and Gendry took advantage of her solitude by sweeping across the floor to meet her.

"Might I have this dance?"

She looked up in surprise and then smiled sweetly before nodding and taking the offered hand. Quickly caught up in the dance, her mood seemed to lighten and she looked up at him with a smile as he moved his hands to her waist and twirled her around to avoid another couple.

"Might I ask your name, kind ser?"

"Gendry Waters," he replied, suddenly ashamed of his bastard surname. Surely a girl as beautiful as she was would look down on a man of such low birth. "And you, my lady?"

"Alayne Stone."

Unable to contain his surprise, he furrowed his brow slightly and Alayne merely shrugged in response, seemingly able to interpret his thoughts. Although he knew she wouldn't lie, he had to admit that she didn't look much like the girls he'd met from Ivarstead and Rorikstead, nor a bastard for that matter. Her fair skin and delicate features suggested highborn ancestors from the North. And yet, if her surname was still Stone...

"I saw you with that man over there and couldn't help but recognize him." Gendry paused for a moment then asked, "Is the Hound your husband, my lady?"

"Husband?" Her cheeks reddened slightly and she moved with him to the nearest wall when the song ended. "No. Lord Clegane is my sworn shield. Nothing more. With the civil war still raging, the roads are dangerous for traveling bards; he keeps me safe."

"And it's just the two of you? Pardon me for saying so, my lady, but the Hound has quite the reputation across Skyrim. On the battlefield _and_ in the brothels..."

Alayne turned away from him and looked toward her protector, her friendly smile faltering when he met her gaze. "Yes," she responded quietly, looking back at Gendry. "I have heard the same, and yet...He does not feel _that_ way about me, nor I him." She added more to herself, "He sees me as a child."

Shaking herself from her thoughts, Alayne's smile widened again and she took one of Gendry's hands. "Surely you didn't want to dance with me so you could ask questions about my sworn shield..."

She asked it teasingly as a question and Gendry blushed slightly, shaking his head. "No, my lady. You simply seemed lonely and I didn't think you should have to pass up the opportunity to enjoy yourself." Besides that, he was still trying to figure out why he felt that he knew her.

Looking almost sad, she accepted that answer and let him lead her back onto the floor to resume their dancing. It wasn't too long before another young man cut in and she apologized sweetly before accepting his offer and leaving Gendry back against the wall.

After another hour and a few bottles of ale, his fears began to slip away and he weaved through the remaining guests to the room he had been given, falling heavily onto the bed and wiping a hand over his face. Although he was exhausted, he wasn't sure if his mind would allow him to sleep easily so he stayed awake, staring at the ceiling above him.

Unbidden, he found himself thinking of Arya Stark again. Of the look in her eyes as she had gazed at her fallen lover. Of Endryn's blood dripping from her sword. Of what she had said and the hatred in her tone when she had said it. Suddenly, at the thought of the Dunmer soldier, he recalled something that he had said during the process of Vilkas' torture.

_"She's been taken by one of Lannister's dogs. If he lets her live, she'll be whelping his bastard pup within the year; mark my words. I've heard she's a pretty thing and Clegane won't let her stay a maiden for long."_

In a flash he saw Arya, sword gripped tightly in her long fingers and then running a hand back through her hair in a gesture of frustration. Then the bard, her slender hand wrapped around the neck of her lute, holding his tightly in her grip as they had danced. With a feeling of horror rising in his chest, he realized what it was that had looked familiar about Alayne Stone. She had her sister's hands.


	22. You Win or You Die (Dany IV)

**A/N: **Since Helgen isn't exactly intact for a majority of Skyrim, I took the liberty of naming a few of its dwellings. However, the residents mentioned are all from the game, so I did not create them. That being said, I did adjust the storyline of a few minor characters, but it's nothing that would alter the entire plotline of the main quest or anything. It was just a way to bring in new people without having to deal with a shitload of OCs. You may keep that in mind as you read. Many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) **StarscreamII**. Reviews are appreciated.

**Disclaimer: **Everything and everyone belongs to either Bethesda Softworks or George R. R. Martin with the exception of Dar'Jazha and Ma'ahni. They are mine.

**Rating: **Be careful. It's rated E for Everyone.

* * *

Though a small town, Helgen was heavily populated with, Daenerys realized only upon passing nearly four dozen of them, soldiers of the Imperial Legion. She had never seen so many in one place at once, even considering the dense population of guards in charge of cleansing Riften's crime-ridden streets.

"Why are they here?" She murmured quietly, looking up at her husband.

Drogo frowned slightly and shrugged. "I'm not sure. As far as I know, this is usually a peaceful Hold. If I find anything out, I'll let you know." With that, he followed Dar'Jazha off toward the guard barracks, leaving her alone with the rest of the caravan.

Unsure of what to tell the people looking to her for command, she glanced nervously toward the retreating form of Khal Drogo before turning back and smiling. "If any of you have any business, to attend to...feel free to do so." She was planning on visiting the tailor's shop and wanted to allow her husband's followers the chance to do as they pleased.

Apparently, she'd said the right thing because the crowd before her began to disperse and spread about the town.

Smiling in satisfaction, Dany turned around and made her away across town to the shop just beside the Black Wyvern Inn. Drogo had given her a fair amount of gold to spend and she was planning on buying herself a new dress.

When the door shut heavily behind her, the Nord woman at the counter looked up and gave a friendly smile. "Welcome to the Merry Maiden. Could I help you with anything?"

"I'd like to have a dress tailored, please." Dany said with a smile in return.

"For yourself?"

She nodded and moved to the empty area that she was gestured toward.

"Once I take your measurements, you can pick out a fabric in your price range and I can have the dress completed and brought to you by this evening. Does that all sound well and good?"

Dany nodded again and lifted her arms when the older woman placed a thin strip of cloth around her chest and then marked it with a piece of charcoal. The same was done around her waist and hips before she was directed toward the bolts of cloth along one wall.

"Might I ask your price range, miss?"

Glancing down at the coins in her palm, Daenerys considered her answer for a moment before responding. "Two hundred septims."

The other woman nodded and gestured toward the entirety of the wall. "Then you can pick any pattern you choose."

Dany was left alone to make her decision and she wandered slowly along the bolts of fabric, running her fingers across a variety of satins, cottons, and the occasional silk. A thin red silk with black trim caught her eye and she rubbed it between her fingers as the Nord return to join her.

"How much for a gown made of this?"

"One hundred and fifty septims, please, miss."

Although she assumed that she could get it for a lower price, Dany wasn't in the mood to haggle on value so she placed two one hundred septim coins on the counter, receiving a handful of tens in return.

"This fabric isn't chosen often," the seamstress confided as she removed it from the wall and began cutting off the necessary amount. "Might I ask why it appealed to you?"

"Those are the colors of my house," Daenerys replied, earning a look of surprise from the other woman. In Skyrim, there were few noble houses; most coming from elsewhere in Tamriel with the exception of the Starks and each family was regarded highly by the commoners.

"Which house, my lady?"

Dany noted the change in address with a smile. "Targaryen. From High Rock."

"Targaryen? I heard news that the Jarl of Riften has just sided with the Stormcloaks against the Imperial Legion." She didn't try to hide her obvious disgust toward the army of Windhelm's Jarl. "He is from your house as well, is he not?"

"Yes. Viserys is my brother." Dany responded absently. After spending the past few years apart from either side of the war, the news that Viserys had aligned himself with the Stormcloaks was surprising and somewhat troubling. She couldn't help but wonder if her arrival in Helgen accounted for the heavy Imperial presence.

The tailor seemed to notice the change in Daenerys' demeanor and she subtly changed the subject as she returned the bolt of red silk to its place on the wall.

"I will make the gown to fit your current measurements, and I will send an extra bit of the silk with you so that it may be adjusted as you grow."

Dany stared at her in confusion. "I beg your pardon?"

"As your body begins to change, my lady. I heard of your recent marriage to Khal Drogo and I only assumed..."

Her hand traveled lightly to rest on her stomach and she nodded, a bit dazed. "Of course. I-I wasn't thinking." She turned to leave and paused only when the tailor called out after her.

"Are you staying at the Black Wyvern, my lady?"

"I do not know, but if you give the gown to anyone in Khal Drogo's caravan, it will get to me in due time."

Without waiting for a reply, she opened the door and stepped back out into the street, her mind reeling with the unrealized possibility that had just been presented to her. A tug on the edge of her skirt broke her from her trance.

"Khaleesi..."

She looked down to see a young Khajiit by her side, her small paws striped with a familiar shade of grey. She had never thought to assume that Dar'Jazha had a family of his own and realized with a pang of guilt what she was keeping him from when he offered his protection on the road.

Kneeling down in front of her, Dany smiled and raised an eyebrow. "What's your name, sweetling?"

"Ma'ahni," the Khajiit replied proudly.

"And what is it that you wanted, Ma'ahni?" Khajiit names still felt foreign on her tongue.

"Would you like to play tag with us?"

For the first time, Dany noticed a young Nord boy standing a few paces away. He looked a bit like the seamstress and if she had to guess, she would say that she was his mother.

Smiling, she turned back to the Khajiit and stood up. "I would love to."

The young boy ran over to join them when he heard her answer and tapped her lightly on the arm before racing away. "You're it!"

After the initial shock wore off, Dany took off after them, following the high-pitched peals of laughter through the winding streets and occasional crowds. She managed to catch up to the young Nord boy and answered his taunt of, "You can't catch me!" with a laugh as she tapped him on top of the head.

"Oh yes I can."

"That's not fair!" he complained half-heartedly, taking off after her when Ma'ahni darted by with a shout of, "Get her, Haming!"

Taking off with the young boy on her heels, Daenerys started off in the opposite direction and she was just glancing over her shoulder to check the distance between them when she ran right into the man emerging from the guard barracks, nearly falling if it weren't for the hand that grasped her arm.

A familiar chuckle revealed the identity of the Redguard standing before her and he knelt down to the level of the two children that had stopped beside him.

"Managed to get my wife to play with you, I see, Haming," Drogo said in amusement, earning a nod from the young boy. He laughed quietly and handed each of the children a ten gold septim. "Go on and get yourselves something."

Not having to be asked twice, Haming ran off with his coin and Ma'ahni was only stopped by a hand on her shoulder.

"Ma'ahni, run and tell your mother that that trading must be done tonight. If she asks why, let her know that your father will be there shortly to answer her questions."

The Khajiit nodded and darted off in the opposite direction with his message. After making sure she had reached the caravan, Drogo straightened up, his smile quickly fading to be replaced by a look of wary discomfort. He took Daenerys' hand and started walking toward the inn. "Come. We need to talk."

"Is something wrong?" Dany asked, struggling to keep up with his long strides. He refused to respond until they were safely inside their room at the inn with the door shut tightly behind them.

"I found out why the soldiers are here."

"Is it because of me?" She whispered, sinking down onto the end of the bed and resting her hands in her lap.

Drogo shook his head and sat down in the chair across from her. "No. General Lannister is setting a trap. His armies somehow found out about the Stormcloak's battle plans and they're planning on capturing Ulfric Stormcloak himself."

"How?"

"With all the men you saw outside. Apparently, the Stormcloaks are going to lead a raid somewhere nearby and when they do, the Legion will set up an ambush and take Ulfric and however men he has with him. They're hoping to catch Robb Stark as well. After they've been captured, they'll bring them back up here to Helgen and formally execute them all under the official decree of General Tywin Lannister himself." He paused and frowned in sudden realization. "Why in Oblivion did you think they were here because of you?"

"Well, I went to tailor's shop earlier and when I told her my name, she said that my brother had just sided with the Stormcloaks."

"Viserys sided with the Stormcloaks? That means Ulfric controls the entirety of Eastern Skyrim now."

"And what exactly does that mean?"

Drogo shrugged. "It could mean nothing. It could mean an end to this war. What it does mean is that we aren't safe here. We need to get you as far away from Imperial troops as possible."

"Do you think they'd try anything?"

Sighing, Drogo looked down to meet her gaze and took her small pale hands in his large dark ones. "I don't know. But I'm not willing to risk it if they are. You mean too much to me." He leaned forward to give her a kiss and then rested his forehead against hers. "I don't ever want to see you hurt again."

She looked away and turned her gaze down to their joined hands, trying not to think about the abuse she'd endured at her brother's hands. She knew as well as her husband did that she would always bear the scars as a reminder of Viserys' anger and her own weakness. Having grown stronger since then, she wished she didn't have to carry the pain of her past with her in her new life.

"We can't leave." Drogo looked at her in confusion and she quietly elaborated. "Right now, we are here as a caravan, distanced from the war in our neutrality. If we flee, they will have reason to suspect an allegiance that we do not have. It will only be more dangerous if we try to escape."

She could tell that her husband realized she was right and although he still looked troubled, he nodded in agreement.

"I don't want you going anywhere else alone. I would stay with you, or have Dar'Jazha accompany you wherever you may need to go, but that would only raise their suspicions. If you must leave this room, take his mate with you. Her name is Ahkari. I'll let her know that she's needed."

The mention of Dar'Jazha's wife reminded Dany of the tailor's comment and she moved one of her hands to rest lightly against her stomach.

"How did they meet?"

"How did who meet? Dar'Jazha and Ahkari?"

She nodded.

"Well..." Drogo settled back in his chair and laced his hands behind his head. "You've heard of the Khajiit caravans, haven't you?"

"Yes. One of them used to trade in Riften, but I was never allowed into the market when they were there. Viserys said they were all filthy savages."

"Your brother was an ignorant fool."

Dany smiled slightly. "No, he was a dragon. He was _the _dragon."

Drogo snorted in disbelief and amusement. "I've heard rumours of dragons returning to Skyrim; didn't think they were talking about a skinny Breton with control issues." Daenerys laughed along with him and then he sighed. "Anyway...Ahkari was the leader of the caravan from Dawnstar to Riften, but she still worked under Ri'Saad, the owner of the two major trading groups, so she wasn't really giving anything up. She met Dar'Jazha the first time we both ended up in Riften and I guess things just went from there. Her sister Zaynabi took over the caravan, she and Dar'Jazha got married, and they had Ma'ahni about a year later. That was eight years ago. Ahkari has proved a valuable asset."

"Asset?" Dany teased. "Is that how you think of her?"

"Well, how else do you want me to think of her? She's my partner's wife."

"I'll have to ask Dar'Jazha if he sees me as an asset to the caravan." Though she meant it as a joke, Drogo's expression suddenly turned serious.

"I pray to the gods that no one ever sees you as an asset. If they do, you'll end up like the poor Stark girl."

"Which poor Stark girl?" Dany asked with concern. She knew little of the Stark family aside from Robb Stark's position in the Stormcloak army.

"The eldest. She _was _merely an asset, to both sides of the civil war, and now she's been captured by a rogue soldier for ransom or worse." He shrugged. "I suppose everyone's a pawn in the game of thrones."

"It's not a game when lives are at stake," She murmured, earning a nod of agreement.

"And yet that's how they treat it. Lannister and Stormcloak could care less about how their war is affecting the people of Skyrim. All they want is the High King's throne and they'll do whatever they deem necessary to obtain it."

He looked at her grimly and sighed. "When you're playing the game of thrones, you either win, or you die."


	23. Porcelain, Ivory, Steel (Sansa IV)

**A/N: **I think everything in here is self-explanatory, so just read and enjoy. Many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) **StarscreamII**. Reviews are appreciated.

**Disclaimer: **Nothing is mine. It all belongs to Bethesda Softworks and George R. R. Martin. Specifically, the second to last sentence is GRRM's.

**Rating: **M for strong language, violence, sexual references, and the consumption of alcohol.

* * *

"My lord...please, wake up, my lord."

Sansa hesitantly shook his shoulder and then flinched back when he shot upright, waving a dagger in front of him and swearing viciously. It took a moment for his eyes to focus on her and then he scowled, pushing his hair angrily back from his forehead.

"Gods damn it, girl..."

"I'm sorry," she apologized meekly. "But...I was afraid..."

The Hound narrowed his eyes and then snorted. "Did you want me to hold you until you fell asleep again?"

Sansa blushed and shook her head, grateful that the room was still dark. "No, my lord. It wasn't a nightmare. Do you...do you remember the boy I was dancing with last night?" She was surprised to find herself thinking of him as a boy, given that he had been older than she, and yet, in comparison to the Hound...the term seemed appropriate.

"Which one?" Sandor grumbled, pulling on one of his boots when he noticed that she was dressed for travel.

"The first. The dark-haired Imperial."

"Aye. What about him?"

"I think..." She hesitated and then began again. "When we returned to our room, he was back out drinking with a few other men. The way he looked at me..."

Sandor glanced up sharply at her words and seemed ready to say something when she continued.

"I think he recognized me, my lord. Or if not, he knew who you were and might've heard of our escape."

"And so now you've woken me so we can do what exactly?" He sounded a bit irritated.

"Leave. Run."

"From a lad who can't be more than nineteen."

"When did you kill your first man?" Sansa countered. The Hound scowled in response but didn't argue further. "I also believe he might be a soldier for the Legion. His armor looked familiar. Please, my lord, we have to go. I don't want to be turned back to the Lannisters." She tried to ignore the tears she knew were forming in her eyes as she finished with a quiet, "I just want to go home."

Sandor eyed her for a moment before sighing and nodding. "Alright, we can go. If you're right, we can at least get a head start on him and any men he may send after us."

Sansa almost thanked him then decided he may not appreciate the gesture and stayed silent instead as he finished putting on his armor and slid his sword into its scabbard. His hand pressed against the small of her back as he guided her out the door and quietly across the common room to the exit, glancing once over his shoulder before shutting the door closed behind them.

Stranger was waiting more than a bit impatiently at the apothecary's shop and he made to bite Sansa but refrained when he received a chastisement from his master. Sandor, although as ill-tempered as his horse from being rudely awakened, acted a bit more gently as he lifted Sansa up into the saddle and then glanced furtively around before untying Stranger and swinging up onto his back.

It wasn't until they were long since out of Morthal that Sandor spoke, his voice low as he murmured beside her ear. "What made you think that the lad knew who you were?"

Sansa shrugged and turned her head to look at him, startled when she discovered that he was much closer than she had anticipated. They both immediately moved back and Sansa regained her composure before replying.

"I...well, I guess he sort of acted suspicious the whole time we were dancing."

"How so? I need something to go off, girl."

"He asked a lot of questions about you. Like, if you were really the Hound and..." She decided to omit the question regarding their marital status. "If I felt safe with you, given your..." She blushed at the memory of the boy's suggestive insinuation. "Reputation..."

"And what did you tell him?" His tone implied piqued interest.

"I said that yes, you were the Hound, there was no denying that, and that you were my sworn shield and that I always feel safe when you're at my side." She couldn't actually remember saying that, but realized with a bit of a start that it was the truth.

Sandor seemed to relax slightly. "Well, then you did the best you could given the circumstance. We'll stop at the next place we reach with other people around. Our best bet for now is trying to blend in somewhere. If I read the map correctly, there should be a mine about an hour's ride from here."

"Are you sure we want to be around other people?"

"I don't _want_ to be doing any of this, girl," he responded. "But if we can blend in, it will be better than being found alone on the roads."

Sansa knew him well enough by now to trust his judgment and merely nodded. As she had said, she felt safe by his side and she trusted him to keep them both out of harm's way until they reached Windhelm and hopefully, if her plans went smoothly, after that as well. If she could manage to convince Robb of his worth, he would no doubt offer Sandor a place in Stormcloak's army, a position she thought he deserved as reward for his decent treatment of her.

As it turned out, the Hound's numerous areas of expertise did not include judging the time of travel based on a map's scale. It was nearly three hours before they reached the small mining settlement of Stonehills and by that time he was viciously complaining about everything from how bright the sun was to his lack of sleep and the fact that they hadn't yet broken their fast.

"It's about damn time," he grumbled as Stranger walked cautiously up the path to the camp outside of Rockwallow Mine.

Sansa ignored him and looked around at the people scurrying about between the tents and buildings that made up the mining community.

A middle-aged Nord approached them and raised a hand to stop their movement. "Halt! Who goes there?"

"Alayne Stone," Sansa called out, retrieving her lute from beneath her cloak and holding it up so the man could see it. "Traveling bard. This is my sworn shield."

"And what's his name?"

"Lothor...High...tower..." She heard Sandor swear under his breath.

"Why didn't he say so himself?" The Nord asked, staring up at them in distrust.

"Because he couldn't," Sansa replied before Sandor could say anything in his defense. "He's a mute, ser, and really quite simple, but loyal to a fault, and very protective."

Behind her, he was cursing both she and the gods in a mutter only just loud enough for her to hear. She tried to hide her smile of amusement.

"Well, what's your business here?"

"Just that: business. The roads aren't safe these days and we're low on coin. I was wondering if you would pay for any ore that my servant was able to mine."

His expression changed to one of relief and he nodded. "Aye. I can do that. Just tell him to head down and talk to Gestur Rockbreaker. Or, I guess, you should talk to him. Give him any ore your man can mine and I promise you'll be paid well for it."

After thanking the man, Sansa turned to Sandor and raised her eyebrows. "You heard the man, Lothor. Off to the mine with you. I don't imagine you'll be riding Stranger straight in there will you?"

Sandor returned her gaze with a glare and dismounted, helping her down after him. "I hope the gods damn you to the deepest of the realms of Oblivion for this, girl. I'm no mute, nor simple either. And what the fuck kind of name is Lothor Hightower?"

Sansa laughed and walked alongside him toward the wooden door in the mountainside that led to Rockwallow Mine. "If your scars wouldn't give you away as the Hound, your tongue certainly would. You should be ashamed of that mouth of yours."

He snorted and opened the door for her when they reached it. "Fuck that."

Shaking her head, Sansa lifted a finger to his lips. "Shh...you're a mute, remember? Just mine some ore and then once we're paid, we can be on our way again. I'm sure the Legion won't be looking for a highborn maiden in a mine, so they should be long gone before we emerge again."

Sandor looked ready to reply but was silenced by a raised eyebrow and scowled instead.

Gestur Rockbreaker was able to direct them to an open vein of iron ore and once Sandor was given a pickaxe and set to work, Sansa sat down in the chair beside him and strummed a chord on her lute.

"Would you like me to sing for you?" He paused briefly to shoot her an unamused look and she smiled widely. "Of course you would. You do so love my singing."

She considered for a moment which song to sing and then decided on an Ashland Hymn she'd learned from the one of the books given to her by Giraud Gemane.

_"What a wondrous love it is  
To bind two souls in faith,  
Chained completely together  
With never a false word,  
Weal and woe, wish and real,  
Woven each together  
From first kiss to last breath,  
First and last whispered in love."_

It was by far the shortest of all the songs she knew, but she'd always loved how simple and sweet it was. The thought of true love had a certain undeniable appeal to it.

She thought she heard Sandor mutter something about "bloody nonsense", but when he didn't repeat himself under her probing gaze, she shrugged it aside as nothing more than his opinion of the song. The other miners offered scattered applause when she played the finishing chord and she smiled by way of thanks.

"Stop drawing attention," the Hound hissed through unmoving lips, shooting her a harsh glare and then tossing a piece of iron ore onto her lap with an added, "And do something useful."

Although the vein he'd been assigned to yielded a mere three pieces of ore, Sandor refused to move to another, deeming it safe enough to go back into the camp and break their fast before returning to the road. He took the ore to Gestur Rockbreaker and silently returned with a handful of coins before ushering Sansa out of the mine and toward the arrangement of tents.

"Hungry?" One of the miners called out, holding up a plate in offering.

"The answer is yes," Sandor whispered in her ear when she hesitated, pushing her down the hillside. "Go."

After breaking their fast on eggs, freshly baked bread, and a sharp, tangy cheese, they were wished well on their travels and in a slightly better mood, Sandor set them back onto the road to Windhelm, expressing his immense delight at not having to watch his tongue anymore.

"Next time we stop somewhere, I'll give my own name and I'll have _you_ be the mute. See how much you like that."

Sansa ignored him and continued reading the copy of _2920, Second Seed, v.5 _that one of the miners' wives had given her. Lady Rijja was just being taken forcefully from her bath when Sansa became aware of how long it had been since _she _had bathed. At least a week if not more. She shuddered to think of how she must look.

"Did you see any streams or ponds on the map, my lord?"

Sandor frowned and then shrugged. "Not that I recall. Why?"

"It's just..." she blushed slightly. "I would like to bathe when I get the chance. Or at least wash up in a stream."

"If you had told me that back in Morthal I could've had someone draw up a bath for you."

Sansa closed her book and looked up at him with an expression of disbelief. "Well why didn't you? Did you not assume that I would want one? Look at me!"

He raised his eyebrow and did as she asked, his eyes traveling down the length of her neck and across the swell of her breasts before settling on her dirt-streaked arms. "You expect me to know what it is that a highborn lady desires?" He sighed when she gave an indignant gesture of affirmation. "Well, I'll let you know if I see any water. That's the best I can do."

A nervous whicker from Stranger turned their attention back to the road and Sandor immediately drew his sword at the sight before them.

At the side of the road lay an overturned cart, the horse once pulling it long since dead and its two masters slaughtered and left beside their recently scavenged cart.

Sandor slowly dismounted and gestured for Sansa to stay atop Stranger as he moved toward the bodies in the wreckage. He knelt beside one and after a moment of silence, Sansa ventured to call out towards him.

"Are they alive?"

At the sound of her voice, he looked sharply in her direction and shook his head, indicating her need for silence. She was about to question why when she heard the familiar whistle of an arrow in flight and the cracking of wood as it pierced the trunk of the tree directly by her head.

Before she could comprehend what was happening, men were swarming from the trees beside the road and she was vaguely aware of Sandor yelling at her to run. When she remained frozen, he shoved his way to her side and repeated his command.

"_Go, _girl!"

"But I don't want to leave you!" She cried, panicked at the thought of being alone and leaving him to die.

Sandor's expression changed slightly and he met her gaze for a brief moment before looking away and smacking Stranger hard across the rump with the flat of his blade, urging the warhorse into a frenzied gallop in the opposite direction of the bandit ambush.

"Dawnstar's a day's ride from here!" she heard over the clashing of steel. "Don't come back for me!"

Although she wanted nothing more than to curl up and cry until she knew that the nightmare she was in was over, she forced herself to obey the Hound's last wish. _Dawnstar's only a day's ride from here_, she told herself. _And from there, I can take a ship to Windhelm._ Despite her joy at the thought of returning to her brother, a large part of her wanted to disobey Clegane's orders and race back to his defense.

In a brief moment of clear thought, she managed to turn Stranger around and spur him back towards the sounds of the fight, praying to Divines and Daedra alike that Sandor would still be alive when she returned.

Being a warhorse, Stranger had no qualms about running straight into the battle and Sansa only just managed to jump out of the saddle before he entered the fray. She could hear the Hound swearing loudly, presumably at the return of his horse without its rider.

Ignoring the pain in her leg from her fall, she drew the dagger from the inside of her dress and stood up.

Only two outlaws were left: one fighting with Sandor beside the overturned cart and the other an archer, standing with his back to her and firing arrows at the Hound in rapid succession.

Before she could regain her senses, Sansa slowly approached the archer and as he raised his bow again, plunged the dagger between the plates of his cuirass, pushing until the hilt caught on his armor.

It was only when she felt the warm blood oozing through her fingers that she realized what she'd done and she staggered backwards before vomiting on the side of the road, sobbing and retching until the only thing that came out was the air in her lungs as she cried.

"I told you not to come back for me."

She felt a heavy hand on her back and sobbed harder, trying to bury her face in the folds of her skirt to avoid his disapproving gaze.

"Little bird..." The hand moved to her chin and gently lifted her head. "Look at me."

Her red-rimmed eyes met his steely gaze and she was surprised to find sorrow in the grey eyes that held her stare.

"You did what you had to."

"I...I..." she broke down crying again and buried her face against his shoulder. "I killed him!"

"I know, little bird. And I owe you my life because of that." His hand awkwardly patted her back and it was only when she pulled away to look at him that she noticed the blood on the ground between them and gave a cry of alarm.

"You're hurt!"

He followed her gaze and shrugged slightly. "I've had worse."

Although his statement was probably true, the sight of an arrow protruding from his leg didn't seem as insignificant to her as it apparently did to him.

"Here," she sniffed and wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. "Let me look at it."

His hand stopped her and he gave her a somewhat wary look. "I'll be fine, little bird."

Sansa sighed and tried to move toward him again. "You will not be _fine..._If that doesn't get treated, it could fester." He scowled, but didn't argue, letting her help him to his feet and guide him to the other side of the road where he promptly collapsed against the first tree large enough to support his weight.

"I need to see it."

"Then look," Sandor grunted, swearing through clenched teeth.

Sansa blushed and avoided his gaze. "I...I need you to...remove your trousers, my lord."

He raised his eyebrow but refrained from making any comments on her request, simply aiding her as she carefully undressed him, trying to avoid contact with the wound. When he was settled back against the tree in his tunic and smallclothes, she frowned down at his thigh and came to same conclusion he had.

"I need to remove the arrow."

"Well, be quick about it," Clegane snapped, hiding his discomfort behind the moody growl.

"It will hurt."

"I know that, girl."

Ignoring him, Sansa wrapped her hands in a thin strip of cloth and then carefully grasped the arrow, taking a deep breath before pulling with all her might. Sandor let out a stream of curses that would've made a sailor blush as the tip of the arrow was wrenched from his thigh and then he collapsed back against the tree, closing his eyes to keep from crying in pain.

"I'm sorry," Sansa whispered meekly, tossing the arrow aside. He waved aside the apology with an impatient gesture.

"Will I live?"

"Yes. But I still need to clean out the wound. Do you have any wine?"

Sandor nodded and sent Sansa after the wineskin in Stranger's saddlebag, requesting another bottle to dull the pain.

As Sansa set to making a fire, she gave Sandor a half-empty bottle of wine and then poured what was in the wineskin into his helmet to boil above the fire.

"Did it hurt?" She asked after a few minutes passed with nothing aside from the Hound's labored breathing breaking the silence between them. "When he shot you?"

Sandor shrugged. "I didn't even realize I'd been hit until you told me I was hurt. Too caught up in the fight to notice. Hurts like Oblivion now though." He jerked his head in the direction of the fire. "That about done?"

Sansa checked and then shook her head. "It's not boiling yet."

They sat for a moment longer in silence before Sandor looked up and frowned slightly.

"Where did you learn all this, girl? Most highborn ladies don't know how to take care of an injury like this."

Sighing, Sansa cut a bit of fabric from the hem of her gown with her dagger and dipped it into the wine as she replied.

"Well, since I grew up beside the College of Winterhold, I learned a few things from the teachers. They taught me a lot about alchemy there and then once Arya and I moved to Solitude with our father, I offered to help the wounded soldiers that came through to the infirmary and the court wizard there taught me how to clean and dress wounds." She put the cloth back into the now boiling wine and turned to face Sandor.

"This will probably hurt."

He nodded and gritted his teeth in anticipation, grinding them together when she gently rubbed the cloth over his bloody thigh.

"I couldn't leave you," Sansa said quietly, trying to keep his mind off of his injury as she poured a bit of wine directly into the ragged hole in his leg.

"Gods damn it..." He groaned, taking a shaky breath before meeting her gaze with unfocused eyes. "Why not?"

"After all you've done for me, I couldn't just let you die."

Sandor snorted. "Don't worry, little bird, I'm not dying anytime soon. Not till I get that gold from your brother."

Sansa stayed silent as she wiped the last of the dried blood from his leg and then she sighed heavily. "I can try to close the wound."

"How? Did you bring your sewing needles with you?"

She ignored the mocking jest. "No. Colette Marence at the College of Winterhold taught me a few basic Restoration spells. I'm not sure how much good it will do, but I can at least try."

Sandor stared at her distrustfully for a moment before shrugging. "If you think it'll help."

His long legs were outstretched and spread apart, allowing Sansa to kneel carefully between them as she moved her hand to his thigh and tried to avoid his eyes. She tried hard to concentrate on the spell she had learned as a young girl, but it was hard for her to focus with Sandor's gaze burning into her as though he meant to push her aside and devour her.

He said nothing despite her lack of progress and after a moment, she felt her gaze drawn to his, her eyes wandering slowly up the length of his scarred neck before settling on his face. If it weren't for the burns, he would be a relatively handsome man. He had strong features, and while his nose was a little large, it didn't look out of proportion with the rest of him. He _was _a very large man after all.

Grey eyes met blue and she felt her chest tighten as he watched her, the same unfamiliar sensation building in the pit of her stomach that she'd felt that night at the inn in Morthal and a deep blush rising to her cheeks as he continued to stare.

Despite the impropriety of it all, she couldn't help but quietly assess the situation she was in. Here she was, held captive by a deserted soldier of the Imperial Legion, and the Hound himself at that, and yet, she didn't feel like a captive nor did he seem to her as her captor. He was her protector, and the one man who never failed to tell her the truth despite its harsh realities. If anything, he was her savior.

And there he was: half undressed, grotesquely burned and staring straight into the depths of her soul as she pressed her hand against his thigh. In a moment of startling clarity, she placed her free hand on his burned cheek and leaned forward, pressing her lips lightly against his own.

Though the burnt corner of his mouth was as hard and unyielding as the rest of him, the good side was surprisingly soft and warm against her own. She had expected a brief moment to pass before his mouth opened against hers and she felt his tongue against her lips, but a few seconds went by and when he didn't so much as move, she pulled away, blushing furiously.

His deep grey eyes were half-closed when she looked down at him and he stared at where her hand still rested on his leg from beneath hooded lids. She could see the muscles in his neck move when he swallowed and his tongue slid out to wet his lips as he continued staring at her with a haunted expression. She had expected him to say something, _anything_, but when he just stared, her eyes welled up with tears and she scrambled to her feet, stumbling back a few steps. When he finally raised his eyes to hers and all she could see in them was confusion and pain, a loud sob escaped her lips and before she started crying there in front of him, she took off running.

She was already a few yards away when she heard a hoarse shout from behind her.

"Wait!" He swore and she assumed that he was trying to stand on his injured leg. "Gods damn it, girl, where are you going?!"

Ignoring his commands for her to come back, she kept running until she found a small cave that she ducked inside before collapsing to the ground and letting out a sob. She thought he had feelings for her and then in the moment that she set aside her armor of courtesy and gave herself to him, he had done nothing, leaving her confused and hollow inside.

As her sobs dwindled to the occasional sniff and she moved to sit with her arms curled tightly around her knees, Sansa swore to herself that she would never let down her guard again, avoiding any pain in the process. She leaned her head back against the wall of the cave and sighed. She felt cold and numb inside.

_My skin has turned to porcelain, to ivory, to steel...I will never be hurt again._


	24. Waking Nightmare (Arya IV)

**A/N:** This chapter marks the end of the daily updates, because today was my first day back to school. :/ I'll try to post once every week from here on out, but once homework and everything starts, it may be less often than that. We'll see. And...on to the notes. For those of you who don't know this, the Daedric Princes are neither male nor female, so when Vaermina is referred to as a Prince and then directly after that as a she, don't be distressed; it's normal, I promise. Anyway, this chapter was _super_ fun to write. I really hope that you like it as much as I do. :) Many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) **StarscreamII**. Reviews are appreciated.

**Disclaimer: **Nothing is mine. It all belongs to George R. R. Martin and Bethesda Softworks. Specifically, almost all of Erandur's dialogue is from in-game (therefore belonging to Bethesda) but I did tweak it and add stuff and manage to make it my own (I think :/).

**Rating: **M for language, dark themes and the consumption of alcohol.

* * *

It was nearly dawn when Arya arrived at the Windpeak Inn, weary, irritable, and trying desperately to find an escape from the inner demons biting at her heels. The latter she found in the form of a strong, red wine, ordering a flagon when she arrived and slumping down onto the nearest bench with an audible sigh.

Her solitude lasted only a moment before a Dark Elf wearing the robes of Mara seated himself beside her and peered at her from beneath his hood.

"What brings you to Dawnstar?"

Arya snorted and took a long drink of wine straight from the flagon. "My destiny."

"Ah...then our reasons for being in this accursed place are the same."

Glancing over at her companion, Arya raised an eyebrow and prompted him to elaborate. "And what is it that the gods have in store for you?"

He sighed sadly. "That, I am not sure. You see, the entire town is being plagued by horrible nightmares. They're in serious danger but I'm afraid there's little I can do about it. And yet I must stay until Mara shares her wisdom with me and I am able to be of service for the tortured souls who live here."

"I've heard of this curse," Arya admitted, filling her tankard and watching the bubbles rise to the surface. "Though not of its cause."

"These dreams are manifestations created by the Daedric Lord Vaermina," the Dunmer began solemnly. "She has an awful hunger for our memories. In return, she leaves behind nightmares, not unlike a cough marks a serious illness. Somehow, I must end her terrible influence over these people before the damage becomes permanent."

Arya fought the chill that passed over her. "Vaermina? The Daedric prince?"

"Aye. Vaermina resides in a strange realm known as Quagmire...a nightmarish land where reality shifts upon itself in seemingly impossible ways. From her citadel at the center, she reaches forth to collect our memories, leaving nothing in return apart from visions of horror and despair. What she does with them, I do not know, nor can I say that I truly want to. Perhaps she collects them for display like works of art in a nonsensical art gallery. Whatever the case may be, her intentions are far from benevolent."

She thought about that for a moment and couldn't help but wonder if the destiny that Jaqen H'ghar spoke of might intertwine with that of the priest of Mara. _'Jaqen H'ghar is of an order far older than that of which you speak. An ancient guild only recently restored to its former glory.' _Could he even be a priest of Vaermina? Was it her destiny to destroy the Daedric prince or to help her?

Pushing the thought aside, she took another drink of wine and then sighed. "And how do you intend to solve this problem?"

"I need to return to the source of the problem, to Nightcaller Temple. Perhaps you'd be willing to assist me in that regard?"

Arya looked at him in sudden suspicion and put a hand to the dagger at her hip. "You said, _return..._"

The Dunmer priest looked around furtively and then lowered his voice. "I've already said too much. If anyone overhears what we're saying, it could start a panic. I would simply ask that you trust me and help me end Dawnstar's nightmares."

If it would somehow end her own nightmares, and at least grant her a momentary peace during her stay in Dawnstar, she was willing to try. "Alright. I'll do what I can."

"Oh, Mara be praised! Nightcaller Temple is only a short walk from Dawnstar. Come, we must hurry." He stood up and pulled her up after him, hurrying her toward the door.

"You must be the sign from Mara that I have been waiting for," he said, his red eyes shining in excitement. "Tell me, child, what is your name?"

"Arya. Of House Stark."

If he was surprised, he didn't show it and instead merely offered a hand to shake. "Well then, pardon me, Lady Arya. I was so caught up in your arrival that I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Erandur. I am a priest of Lady Mara, may She guide us on our quest."

Any attempt to respond on her behalf was cut short as he began to speak again.

"That tower on the hill is our destination. The people here call it the Tower of Dawn. I'm not familiar with its history, as it was built long before my birth, but I do know that it was deserted for quite a long time before Nightcaller Temple was established inside. Even when the temple was active, the priests would rarely be seen in Dawnstar. They preferred to live a solitary existence. Anyway, the temple's been abandoned for decades now. Ironic isn't it...a ruin within a ruin?"

He glanced toward Arya and she nodded in agreement.

"There's a small shrine to Mara I established inside the tower's entry hall. I was hoping to seek spiritual guidance from Her. I do believe my prayers were answered and your reason for stumbling across Dawnstar is more than a mere coincidence. Follow me, it's this way."

They began the short trek up the hillside toward the tower and Erandur took a deep breath. "It feels good to finally have a chance to help these people. Helplessly watching them suffer has been difficult."

The heavy wooden door to the tower yielded under his touch with a groan and Erandur's words took on a warning tone as they entered into the darkness before them.

"I would advise caution as we continue, child. Years ago, this temple was raided by an orc war party seeking revenge…they were being plagued by nightmares just like the people of Dawnstar."

"Were they successful?" Arya asked absently as she took in the small makeshift shrine to Mara in front of her.

"No. Knowing they could never defeat the orcs, the priests of Vaermina released what they call 'The Miasma'."

"And what exactly did that do?" From the way he was said it, she assumed it was nothing good.

"The Miasma was created by the priests of Vaermina for their rituals. It's a gas that places the affected in a deep sleep." He continued speaking as he walked toward the back wall of the room they were in. "Because the rituals would last for months or even years, the Miasma was designed to slow down the aging process."

"So how is that a danger to us? If they're all asleep, they won't cause us any trouble."

Erandur frowned. "Well, I'm concerned that when this place is unsealed, the Miasma will dissipate and they'll awaken; both orcs and priests alike." Before she could answer, he raised his hands to the wall and they began to emit what appeared to be a stream of fire. After a moment, the stone yielded and he walked through to the other side, Arya following close behind.

"Now I can show you the source of the nightmares," he said grimly, leading her to the edge of the walkway they were on and gesturing toward the object in the area below them.

"Behold the Skull of Corruption, the source of Dawnstar's woes. We must reach the inner sanctum and destroy it." His tone lightened a bit and he put a hand to her elbow. "Come, there's no time to lose."

They hurried further along until they found their way blocked by some sort of magickal barrier. Erandur swore.

"Damn it. The priests must have activated this barrier when the Miasma was released."

Arya sighed, becoming increasingly unsure of her place in the events unfolding about her. "It certainly looks difficult to breach," she commented sardonically.

"Impossible actually," Erandur replied absently, studying it with a careful gaze as he stood before it and then suddenly breaking his contemplative silence. "Hmm...I wonder..." He turned toward her and narrowed his eyes. "There may be a way to bypass this barrier, but I must check the library to confirm that it can be done."

Arya regarded him suspiciously and held up a hand to stop him as he tried to move past her. "You seem to know an awful lot about this place, Erandur. Is there anything else that you think I should know, or should I just turn around and leave you to face this task on your own?"

When he hesitated, she turned to go, but was stopped by the Dunmer priest. "Wait. Don't go." He sighed heavily. "I suppose there's no point in concealing the truth any longer. My knowledge of this temple comes from personal experience. I was a priest of Vaermina."

Arya turned back to face him and raised an eyebrow. "Go on."

"What would you have me say? That I'm sorry for following the misguided teachings of a mad Divine? For stealing memories from children?"

"That would be a good start."

Ignoring her reply, he continued more to himself. "When the orcs attacked, I was only concerned for myself. I...fled. And left my brothers and sisters behind to die." He was quiet for a moment before raising his gaze back to hers. "I've spent the last few decades living in regret and seeking redemption from Mara. And by Her Benevolence, I _will_ right my wrongs. Now...make your choice. If you wish to leave, I will not stop you. This may yet be something I must face on my own."

All too familiar with the daunting task of facing one's dark past, Arya felt compelled to stay and nodded to the library door by way of reply. "Let's go."

The half-rotted door to the library opened with a creak before allowing them passage into the musty and ransacked room that had once housed row upon row of books, tomes, and scrolls. Now, all that remained was the wreckage of the fight between the orcs and priests: burned books, shredded scrolls, tattered tapestries and lying unscathed about the room, bodies.

Just as she caught sight of the first one, it began to move, rising from its decade-long slumber and grasping for the sword at its side. Moving quickly from her spot behind Erandur, Arya beat the orc warrior to its weapon and drew the blade across its throat, earning a fountain of blood that caught the Dunmer's attention.

"It seems my fears were founded," he murmured, gazing past Arya to something on the level below her.

She turned just in time to see three more bodies rising from the ground and regaining their bearings as they looked about at their surroundings. Erandur raised his hands and they sparked with an electrical crackle as he moved past her toward his former brothers and sisters.

"I'll take care of them; you try and locate the information I need." Before Arya could protest, he continued, glancing sharply around at the few remaining shelves with intact books. "We're looking for a book of alchemical recipes called _The Dreamstride_. The tome bears the likeness of Vaermina on the cover." He sighed sadly and kept one eye on the fight that had erupted beneath them between the recently awakened priests and orcs. "This library used to be filled with arcane volumes. Now look at it; almost everything's been burned. I certainly hope the tome we need is still intact."

With that, he left her to her search and she scrambled over the piles of charred books toward the relatively unharmed section of the library.

_The tome bears the likeness of Vaermina on the cover..._ Not for the first time, she wished she had paid closer attention to her lessons as a child. The days as a child when she was supposed to be with Sansa learning about the various deities of Tamriel were usually spent gazing out the window toward the training yard where their brothers fought with wooden swords; an activity Arya had always longed to do rather than having to endure yet another lesson from Septa Mordane.

Thankfully, her lack of attention as a child didn't hinder her progress as the first book she came across, lying dusty but unharmed on a pedestal, had the likeness of an exotic looking goddess on its deep purple cover.

"I think I found it!"

The sounds of the fighting below ended with one last scream of pain and after a tense moment of silence, Erandur appeared at the top of the stairs and hurried toward her.

"Let me take a look..." He took the book from her hands with a sort of cautious reverence and turned to the first page before breathing a sigh of relief. "Mara be praised!" His eyes scanned the pages for a few minutes before he gave a curt nod and closed it again. "There_ is_ a way past the barrier to the inner sanctum. It involves a recipe for a liquid known as Vaermina's Torpor."

Arya raised her eyebrows. "Vaermina's Torpor? Is that some type of potion?"

Erandur nodded and tucked the book under his arm as he began to lead her back out to the door they'd entered from. "Yes. The Torpor grants an ability the priests of Vaermina called "The Dreamstride"; using dreams to travel distances in the real world."

Arya frowned. "That's impossible."

"Oh, no, I assure you that it's not. The Dreamstride is well known in Vaerminian Lore." Almost as an afterthought, he added, "Sadly, I have yet to see it function in person."

Sighing, Arya followed him back out into the main corridor. _This is complete madness._

"Now, as a sworn priest of Mara, the elixir won't work for me." Erandur continued, "The Torpor will only work for Priests of Vaermina, or the unaffiliated."

"Me, I assume?" Arya asked drily. "And what exactly will this "Dreamstride" feel like?"

Erandur shrugged slightly. "I'm not entirely sure. You'll be viewing the memory of another through your own eyes and supposedly, with your own body, though that point is widely debated. Whichever the case, those around you will perceive you as normal but, you will find the words you utter may not be your own. Thanks to all of these odd principles, there is quite a lot of debate as to whether this is really a dream or just the machinations of Vaermina. As I said, I've never actually seen it attempted."

Arya sighed again. "And where is this Torpor supposed to be?"

"I believe there is a laboratory in the east wing," Erandur replied matter-of-factly. "If we proceed there, we should be able to locate a sample."

The door was quickly reached and Arya made sure to set the parameters for entry before Erandur could send her off to find something she knew nothing about. Not even dear old Septa Mordane could have prepared for the likes of this.

"If there's anyone in there, I'll fight them. Since you know what this Torpor is supposed to look like, you begin searching. I'll help once the laboratory is cleared."

Erandur nodded in agreement and let her go first, heading straight for a row of potions on the opposite wall as Arya drew her sword and hacked off the head of the first orc in her path before it even had the chance to awaken.

The next two were on her before she had a chance to turn and she whirled about, meeting them strike for strike as she fought against both steel and spells alike, everything Vilkas had taught her in the training yard coming back with startling clarity.

Spinning past a well-aimed blow to her skull, she pushed one of the orc warriors into the path of a devastating stream of fire before plunging her blade deep into the heart of the priestess that had cast it.

"You're dead," she muttered, yanking the blade free and reveling in the familiar feel of having a bloody sword grasped firmly in her hand.

She looked up to see Erandur watching her with unmasked admiration. "Well...now that they've been dealt with...we still need to find the Torpor. I have yet to find anything matching its description. It should be in a small bottle, very similar to a potion."

Arya looked around and grabbed the first bottle she saw, a thin maroon tinted one that was sealed with a cork. "Like this?"

Erandur peered down at it and then raised his eyebrows. "Exactly like that. I have to admit, I'm amazed you discovered a bottle intact; this place looks as though it was ransacked by the orcs." He traveled down the stairs to join her and squinted at the thick liquid sloshing about in the bottle.

"If I could do this myself, I would, but..." he looked down at her and then gestured toward the Torpor in her hand. "You need to guide us the rest of the way. Drink."

Uncorking the bottle, Arya hesitated for a moment and Erandur firmly urged her to continue.

"Dawnstar's fate rests in that tiny bottle. The longer we wait, the more damage Vaermina could be doing to those poor people. I understand your hesitation, but I promise you that it works."

Arya nodded slowly and then looked back up into his deep crimson eyes. "How will I know when to wake up?"

"I don't think you will," he admitted. "But I will watch over you as you slumber to ensure your safety. If I deduce anything is amiss, I will use my arts to bring you back. Otherwise, I am uncertain what will end your Dreamstride. Perhaps when Vaermina's curious appetite has been filled."

She cocked an eyebrow. "That's reassuring. So, this _will_ be dangerous?"

Erandur sighed and placed a hand on her shoulder. "I will not lie to you, there is some risk involved. The last time the Torpor was imbibed could have been decades ago. But I swear upon Lady Mara that I will do everything within my power to prevent any harm from befalling you."

Nodding again, she closed her eyes and focused on the warmth of his hand on her shoulder. If anything were to happen, he would bring her back; she had to believe that. Before she could hesitate any further, she brought the bottle to her lips and tilted her head back. The last thing she was consciously aware of was the feel of the potion sliding thickly down her throat. And then, darkness.

* * *

When she came to, the room about her seemed hazy and far too bright to be any sort of reality. When she looked about, her head spun and she had to fight to remain standing, mentally staggering over to a wall for support though her body stayed firmly in place.

"The orcs have breached the inner sanctum, Brother Veren."

The voice came directly from her left and she looked toward it, coming face to face with a tall bearded Nord. Beside him stood a stern-looking Dunmer that replied gravely to his companion's warning.

"We must hold. We cannot allow the Skull to fall into their hands."

"But...no more than a handful of us remain, brother." The Nord glanced about nervously and Arya half expected to see him cleaved in half by an orc charging in from an adjoining corridor.

"Then we have no choice. The Miasma must be released."

"The Miasma? But, brother..."

"We have no alternative," the Dunmer replied fiercely. "It is the will of Vaermina." With that, he turned and looked directly into Arya's eyes. "And what about you, Brother Casimir? Are you prepared to serve the will of Vaermina?"

_Brother Casimir? _Before she had the chance to respond, she felt her throat contract and a familiar voice issued forth from her lips.

"I have made my peace. I am ready."

With a start, she realized that the Dreamstride had placed her inside of the memories of none other than Erandur, formerly Brother Casimir, Devotee of Vaermina.

"Then it's decided," Veren continued. "Brother Casimir, you must activate the barrier and release the Miasma. Let nothing stop you." He turned back to address the Nord at his side. "Brother Thorek, we must remain here and guard this Skull with our lives if necessary."

"Agreed," Thorek replied grimly. "To the death."

Veren nodded and looked back toward Casimir. "Then let it be done. Farewell, my brothers."

He turned away and Arya stood still for a moment, unsure of where to go next. It seemed her hesitance was unnecessary as she was carried swiftly through the winding halls of Nightcaller Temple on Casimir's legs, moving unscathed past various battles between his brothers and the invading orcs before reaching the area just beyond the barrier that Erandur had sought to destroy.

Somehow, she managed to gain control of his limbs and upon catching sight of a chain just above a soul gem emitting a faint purple glow, she moved toward it and pulled with all her might, watching the magickal artifact spark to life just as the world around her dimmed and she was once again plunged into darkness.

* * *

"Arya! Arya!" Erandur's face came slowly into focus above her and Arya groaned, reaching a hand back to cradle her aching skull. At the first signs of life, the Dunmer's face lit up and he smiled widely. "It worked! Mara be praised!"

Arya blinked slowly and then sat up, looking around in confusion and subtly holding one hand out in front of herself to ensure that she had returned to her own body. "What happened?" She asked groggily, her voice coming out as a hoarse croak.

"You vanished after drinking the Torpor and materialized on the other side," Erandur responded, urging her to drink from the wineskin he was pushing to her chapped lips. "I have never seen anything quite like it."

"Neither have I," she managed to reply, pushing aside the wineskin and wiping away the bit that had trickled down her chin as she drank. "And yet it happened. Plain as day." She squinted at their surroundings and took the offered hand as she struggled to her feet. "Can we reach the inner sanctum now?"

Erandur nodded. "Yes. And reach it we must." He hurried off toward the steps down to the lower level, slowing only when he noticed how far behind Arya was. "We're so close I can taste it!"

The only thing Arya could taste was the sour reminder of the wine on her tongue and she hobbled after him, trying to get used to the feel of her own body again.

They reached the inner sanctum quickly only to realize that they weren't alone. Arya was just as startled as Erandur was to see a familiar Nord and Dunmer standing in front of the Skull.

The priest of Mara approached slowly, as if in a trance.

"Wait...Veren...Thorek...you're alive!"

"No thanks to you, Casimir," Veren replied icily. Arya drew her sword.

"I no longer use that name," Erandur responded almost sadly. "I am Erandur, Priest of Mara."

"You're a traitor," Veren spat, his eyes shining bright with fury. "You left us to die and then ran before the Miasma took you."

Arya bristled with the strange need to defend her companion's honor. Something about living inside of his memories made her feel as though they had a connection. Almost as though she was now, or had always been, a part of his past.

"No. I...I was scared. I wasn't ready to sleep." She wasn't sure whether she or Erandur had spoken, but no one paid her any mind so she assumed it was the latter.

"Enough of your lies!" Veren shouted, his hands sparking to life. "I can't allow you to destroy the Skull, Priest of Mara." He spat out the title as though it were venom on his tongue.

Erandur's own hands emitted the familiar crackle of charging magicka and he stared down his former brothers with steely resolve. "Then you leave me no choice."

Before Arya could move to his aid, Veren and Thorek were enveloped in a cloak of flame and only the beating of her own heart drowned out the sound of their tortured screams.

When their cries finally died, Arya rushed to Erandur's aid, supporting him as he fell weakly against her side.

"I...knew Veren and Thorek," he began quietly. "They were my friends. Is this punishment for my past? Is it Mara's will to torment me so?"

Arya couldn't help but find herself wondering the same questions as the blasphemous priest. Was Vilkas' death some sort of punishment devised by the gods? Was that what Jaqen had sent her to learn?

"They may have been right," she mused in a whisper. "Perhaps...perhaps we _shouldn't_ destroy the Skull..." Perhaps they could use it as a way to get revenge upon the gods that had served them as nothing more than divine torturers. Perhaps, _that_ was their shared destiny.

"No." Erandur's voice regained its strength and the conviction in his tone shook Arya from her own trance.

"You mustn't listen to them. They speak only lies and deception. Had we aided them in releasing the Skull, they would have used it to wreak havoc upon Skyrim. They...they had to die." He took a deep breath and then turned to face the grotesquely grinning staff.

"It is time. The Skull must be destroyed. If you'll stand back, I'll perform the ritual granted to me by Lady Mara."

As Arya backed away, Erandur fell to his knees and touched his forehead to the ground, laying his hands out before him. "I call upon you, Lady Mara! The Skull hungers. It yearns for memories and leaves nightmares in its wake. Grant me the power to break through…"

His voice began to fade and Arya was suddenly aware of a whisper echoing inside the confines of her mind. _"He's deceiving you. When the ritual is complete, the Skull will be free and then Erandur will turn on you. Quickly! Kill him now. Kill him and claim the Skull for your own! Vaermina commands you!"_

Arya staggered backward with a cry of alarm, her hands grasping fruitlessly at her head as the voice continued its urging. _"You are no stranger to my realm, Arya of House Stark. I sense great torment in you. Take the Skull and it will erase the pain of your memories."_

Falling to her knees, she began to sob, shaking her head wildly and screaming for the voice to leave. Instead, it only increased in volume, breaking her will and bending her fractured mind to its desires.

_"Look at him," _it hissed. _"_Look_ at him!"_

Arya lifted her tear-streaked face to see Erandur standing before her, concern written across his sharp elven features.

_"Into his eyes..."_

The worry inside his blood red eyes slowly shifted to a look of twisted delight and when she looked back to his face it was the sadistic sneer of Vilkas' killer that met her gaze. Nearly blinded by her own fury, she felt her hand move to her dagger as Vaermina pressed her to take action.

_"Kill him! Now!"_

Fighting against the grip on her mind, Arya wrenched the dagger from her own hand with a last burst of strength and tossed it aside, managing to gasp out a command in Erandur's direction. "Destroy it!"

_"No! You fool! Vaermina commands you—"_

A bright burst of light banished the voice from her mind and Arya fell onto her side, gasping for breath and fisting her hands in her hair as she shook from the aftermath of Vaermina's invasion.

"Are you alright?" Erandur asked softly, kneeling by her side and placing the back of his hand against her forehead.

Arya nodded meekly and dragged herself up to sit against the wall, her arms wrapping protectively around her knees. "I just need some time," she whispered, closing her eyes and leaning her head back in an attempt to soothe its pounding.

Erandur sighed and she felt his hand rest gently on her arm before he stood. "I had constructed a meager shrine to Mara in the antechamber where we entered, intending to spend the rest of my days here, burying the past and paying for forgiveness. Instead, I wish to offer my services to you. If you ever wish to journey with me, I'll be here." He hesitated briefly and then added, "What say you?"

Arya hesitated for a moment before opening her eyes and looking up to meet his gaze. There was only way to know for sure if this is what her path was meant to be.

"Innocence, my brother."

Erandur furrowed his brow in confusion. "I'm sorry...but, I don't understand."

Sighing, Arya buried her face in her hands and gave a muffled reply. "I need to be alone right now, but if I ever need someone by my side, I promise I will not forget you."

A brief moment of silence passed before she heard Erandur's retreating footsteps and she was left alone in the inner sanctum of Vaermina's temple, her mysterious savior's words echoing softly through her mind.

_"Farewell, Arya of House Stark. Until we meet again."_


	25. Dangerous Treachery (Drogo IV)

**A/N: **Here's an update, because...IT'S MY BIRTHDAY! :D Anyway...First off, I would like to apologize that in pretty much all of Dany and Drogo's chapters, you're just getting snippets of everyday life in a caravan and the occasional update on the civil war. Sort of boring, I know. That'll remain true for a little while more, but I promise you that both of their stories are gearing toward a drastic turn and then there will be no more fartin' around in towns and trading goods with the local merchants. That being said, I would just like to remind anyone who forgot that the Lannister house sigil is a lion. So, enjoy reading. Many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) **StarscreamII**. Reviews are appreciated. They can also count as birthday gifts.

**Disclaimer: **Nothing is mine. It all belongs to Bethesda Softworks and George R. R. Martin.

**Rating: **T for minor language.

* * *

The road to Riverwood was short and, much to the relief of the caravan, devoid of any guards or soldiers. The quiet journey served as a much needed reprieve from the paranoia of Helgen and Drogo was glad to be back on their way, never have been fond of staying too long in one place, even if the safety of his caravan wasn't in jeopardy. Caravans were meant for the roads and even if the towns and cities across Skyrim did serve as the best chance for profit, the roads were where they belonged.

As far as he knew, Riverwood had managed to keep itself out of the politics of the civil war so he assumed that they would be safe for however long they stayed within its walls, a correct assumption by all of the accounts he'd heard.

"My Khal?" Dar'Jazha's voice broke Drogo from his thoughts and he looked over at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Pardon?"

"Are we staying long in Riverwood?"

"Oh. No. We'll leave before nightfall and head on towards Whiterun if we're able." The gates of Riverwood slowly parted to grant them access as he continued. "I need to speak with Valerius about a trade arrangement. If you'll get together the things we have to trade and then set up a stall outside the Sleeping Giant, you can try to earn us a profit while we're here." He hesitated for a moment and then added, "And see if you can teach Daenerys a thing or two about peddling."

Sharp teeth poked out from beneath thin lips as he smiled and nodded his acquiescence. "My Khal will no longer need Dar'Jazha if she learns my trade; wait and see."

Drogo laughed and shook his head. "I'll always need you around. Besides, my wife will have other duties to attend to in time."

His companion nodded in agreement and glanced back to where Daenerys was walking beside Ahkari and Ma'ahni. She had quickly grown fond of the young Khajiit and her mother and she looked up with a smile when they waved toward the front of the caravan. Drogo and Dar'Jazha waved back.

"Keep them entertained," Drogo said with a smile as he dismounted from his stallion and handed the reins to Dar'Jazha before striding off in the direction of the Riverwood Trader. The creatively named general goods store was nestled near the center of town and its cozy wood exterior somehow managed to make up for its cautious and lackluster owner.

Lucan Valerius was arguing with his younger sister Camilla when Drogo entered.

"Well, one of us has to do _something_!" Camilla was saying, throwing her hands up in a gesture of exasperation.

Her brother sighed wearily and shook his head. "We are done talking about this."

"Well, what are you going to do then?" Camilla retorted. "Let's hear it!"

"I said no!" Lucan replied forcefully, slamming his fist down on the wooden counter between them in a rare fit of passion. "No adventures, no theatrics, and definitely no chasing thieves!" Sighing again, he looked over toward the door and managed a weak smile. "Oh, Drogo. I'm sorry you had to hear that."

After shooting a pointed look at his sister, she left in a huff and Lucan turned back to the caravan master at the door. "It's nice to see a friendly face. Camilla seems to be getting harder to handle with each passing day. If she could just choose between those two men that are mooning over her and settle down, she would be finally be out of my hair."

Drogo chuckled and walked over to stand on the other side of the wooden counter. "Still hasn't made a decision between those two?" When Lucan shook his head sadly, he smiled. "So what was she on about this time?"

Valerius hesitated for a moment then leaned forward and rested his elbows on the counter. "You remember my golden claw don't you? The family heirloom given to me by my father?"

Drogo nodded and noticed for the first time that it was missing from its usual spot between them.

"Well...we had a bit of a break-in. They left all the rest of my wares and just made off with the claw. Camilla wants to go after the bastard that took it."

The Redguard frowned. "She may have a point you know."

Lucan groaned and put his head in his hands. "Not you too...I know that my sister is a perfectly capable woman, but I just...I don't want her getting hurt. All the things she wants to do are dangerous and she's the only family I have left."

"I know how you feel," Drogo admitted. "I was just recently married and trouble seems to be following my wife wherever we go."

Raising his head again, Valerius raised an eyebrow and smiled slightly. "Married? Good for you. It wouldn't hurt for you to settle down either."

"Perhaps not, but I'm not planning to leave the caravan anytime soon. It's my life as much as this store is yours. And while we're on the topic of business, I have a proposition for you. One that seems all the more beneficial in light of the recent theft."

"Oh?"

Drogo nodded and reached for the piece of rolled parchment tucked into his swordbelt. "As you know, since we've taken a few of Ri'Saad's routes over the years, he's found himself with a handful of extra men that are no longer needed and are currently only a burden on his coinpurse."

He handed the paper to Lucan and continued as the other man broke the seal and began scanning the scroll's contents.

"He would like to offer two able-bodied guards to defend against thieves and the like and would also include a guarantee that he would personally pay the amount to get a replacement for anything that went missing under their watch."

"And in return?"

"You pay them each their wages and for every item you sell while they are in your employment, Ri'Saad asks for thirty-five percent of the profits."

"Thirty-five?" Lucan frowned and spread the parchment out on the counter between them. "That's a steep price."

Drogo shrugged slightly. He wasn't there to bargain on details. Ri'Saad had made it clear that he was to be nothing more than a messenger and that if his terms were rejected, he would take his business elsewhere.

"To be honest," Valerius continued, retreating briefly toward the back of his shop to retrieve a quill and inkwell. "If I hadn't just been robbed, it wouldn't be worth it, but right now, security is more important than profit." He signed the parchment and resealed it before handing it back to Drogo. "Tell Ri'Saad I'll take his deal."

Drogo nodded and returned the scroll to his belt. "As soon as this reaches his hands, you'll have your guards. If you wish, I can leave a few of my men here until they arrive."

Lucan shook his head and straightened a few items on the counter when the door opened. "There's no need. I'm sure Faendal would keep an eye on the shop if Camilla asked him to."

Drogo chuckled and stepped aside so the new customer could browse the wares on display.

"You tell your sister that I want her to make up her mind."

Lucan smiled and glanced back toward him. "That I can do. Good day, Drogo. You know you're welcome here anytime."

Waving a farewell, Drogo ducked back out of the shop and left it behind in search of his partner on the other side of town.

As expected, Dar'Jazha was standing behind his makeshift wooden stall, gesturing exaggeratedly as he called out their wares to the passing villagers, Daenerys standing at his side. When he approached, Dany picked up a silver and ruby ring and held it out in his direction.

"Would you like to buy this ring, my lord? To gain favor with a young lady perhaps? Only two-hundred sixty septims; a fair price for its value."

Drogo smiled and leaned down to give her a kiss. "Thank you, but my lady already has a ring." He tapped the silver band on her finger that signified their bond of matrimony and she smiled back at him happily.

"Dar'Jazha should make you pay for that kiss," the Khajiit grumbled, shooting a look at his Redguard partner. "It was given at _my_ stand."

"Here." Drogo flipped a five septim coin in his direction. "Buy your wife something pretty."

Dar'Jazha rolled his eyes and turned away, muttering under his breath and swishing his tail in mock annoyance.

Dany giggled and then looked back at her husband. "Did you finish what you needed to?"

He nodded and fingered the edge of one of the tunics on the stall's counter. "Yes. And this ring made me think of something." Returning the ring to its spot beside the matching amulet, he nodded toward the woman standing a few paces away, deep in conversation with the town's lumberjack. "That's Camilla Valerius. The Bosmer that's staring at her is Faendal. The Nord bard over there watching her from his porch is Sven."

Daenerys raised her eyebrows. "Oh..."

"Her brother is the man I was talking with. He owns the general goods store. He and everyone else in this town would like to see her settle down with one of them, but it's been years now and she hasn't yet chosen between them."

"Those poor men."

"My thoughts exactly. If you could somehow convince her to make a decision, Lucan would be forever in your debt, and, therefore, in mine, which could be beneficial sometime down the road."

Dany nodded in understanding. "I'll see what I can do."

She started off in Camilla's direction then hesitated and turned back around. "Which is the right one for her?"

Drogo shrugged. "They're both good men. You decide."

Raising her eyebrows, she shrugged slightly and then continued on, leaving Drogo and Dar'Jazha alone at the merchant's stand.

"Does my Khal wish to return to the road?"

Drogo looked back at the Khajiit and shook his head. "No. Keep selling here. I need to speak with one more person before we leave."

Dar'Jazha nodded and managed to lure a customer over before Drogo even had the chance to leave his side and walk toward the sawmill.

Faendal had returned to his work at the mill as soon as Dany and Camilla had left for the Riverwood Trader and he put down his axe when Drogo approached.

"Good day, Drogo. What brings you to Riverwood?"

"Business."

"I didn't realize you were going to be here so soon. I had heard that we would have a visiting caravan, but I thought it was sometime next moon."

"It was going to be," Drogo admitted, rubbing his hands together to combat the chill of the autumn wind. "But there were a few unexpected events that brought us here early. Do you know where I can find Gerdur?"

"I think she went to talk to Alvor about new blades for the saws. Hod says they're getting a bit dull."

Drogo nodded his thanks and left the Bosmer to his work, heading off in the direction of the blacksmith's shop. Just as Faendal had said, Gerdur was speaking with Alvor when he arrived. He turned to Alvor's daughter as he waited for them to finish their business.

"Helping out your father at the forge again Dorthe?"

She nodded and smiled proudly. "Papa says I'm going to be the greatest blacksmith that Skyrim has ever seen!"

Drogo chuckled. "I don't doubt that one bit. And I promise that my caravan will sell your weapons once you're old enough to run your own forge."

Dorthe's smile widened. "Really? Thank you!"

"You're welcome. Send your mother my regards when you see her again, would you?"

She nodded and scampered off when her father called her over, leaving Drogo and Gerdur standing together outside the blacksmith's home.

"Drogo. What a surprise. Is there anything that I can help you with?"

"I don't know. It's information that I'm looking for."

"You'd probably be better off talking to Orgnar at the Sleeping Giant then."

"Perhaps. Do you know if it's true that Viserys Targaryen has sided with the Stormcloaks?"

Gerdur narrowed her eyes. "You ask that as if it would be a bad thing." Drogo shook his head and her suspicion faded. "I hope to Talos that he has, but no, I hadn't heard that. I haven't gotten a letter from Ralof for moons now. Suppose he's busy fighting the war with Robb Stark. He says that he's the Young Wolf's most trusted advisor. Do you suppose that's true?"

"I wouldn't know," Drogo replied, frowning slightly. "I've never had the pleasure of meeting your brother."

"Well, he's a good man, but sometimes he likes to make things sound grander than they really are. Why is that you're asking about Riften?"

"No reason," he said absently. "I just heard a rumour and wanted to confirm it. If it's true, my trade route will be slowed by Stormcloak troops and I needed to know if I should account for a delay in travel."

"The woes of leading a caravan in times of war," Gerdur replied sympathetically. "But gods know Ulfric needed the East firmly in his grip to defeat the Legion. They may be robbing forts right from under Tywin Lannister's nose, but everyone knows that the lions have a larger army and better trained men. It gives them an advantage that poses a threat to all of Skyrim."

Though Drogo knew well how strongly both Gerdur and her husband Hod supported the Stormcloak rebellion, he wasn't entirely in agreement with their views so he merely nodded and offered silence as comment.

"If you'd like, I can send a courier with news as soon as I hear word from Ralof."

"Thank you. I would appreciate that."

Gerdur nodded and after apologizing for having to return to the mill, let him continue on his way to the inn. Perhaps Orgnar would know more than she had. Even if he didn't, he could share what little information he did get with Daenerys. He'd seen her and Camilla disappear into the Sleeping Giant half an hour earlier, presumably in search of Sven.

Much to his surprise, the bard was nowhere to be seen when he entered and Daenerys waved him over to the table where she sat with Camilla and Faendal, the latter with a rare smile on his face.

"How did you manage that?" He asked quietly as he lowered himself onto the bench beside his wife.

Dany laughed and slid a piece of paper across the table to him. "I gave this to Camilla and told her it was from Sven."

Drogo raised his eyebrows and looked down at the parchment, making sure that Camilla was occupied before reading it.

_My Dearest Camilla,_

_I yearn to have you as my own,_  
_Washing my linens,_  
_And my fine blond hair,_  
_To cook my dinner from my stove,_  
_And tend to my house while I wander._

_Yours truly,_  
_Sven_

He snorted and pushed it back to Dany. "He didn't actually write that did he?"

She shook her head. "Oh no. Faendal did." She laughed at the look on her husband's face. "Don't worry, I talked to them both first. In the end, I thought she would be happier with Faendal, so..." she gestured toward the happy couple. "Problem solved."

"One problem at least," Drogo replied, turning somber as he moved to face his wife. "Though I do have good news regarding your brother."

"Was he finally removed from the throne of Riften? That would be an answer to my prayers."

"No. Nothing like that. Not yet at least. The woman that owns the sawmill is the sister of a fairly important Stormcloak soldier so I asked her if she had heard word of the alliance yet."

"And?"

"She hadn't. And that means that the woman in Helgen only knew because the news came with the Imperial troops. If the Legion is planning to act against you for your brother's treason, they need more support than they have at the moment."

"So we're safe?"

"For now."

Dany sighed and leaned her head forward to rest against his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"It's my fault that you're in danger now. You and your entire caravan."

"_Our_ entire caravan," he corrected, running his fingers through the thin strands of her silver hair.

"Either way, it's almost a hundred innocent people that are at risk just because of who I am."

"Don't worry yourself about it," Drogo said gently, lifting her chin with his thumb so she met his gaze. "I promise that no one will get hurt while I'm alive. Not you, not me, and not anyone else that's traveling with us."

"And if the Legion sends soldiers after us? Or arrests us at the next city?"

"Then I hope the gods will damn them to the deepest realm of Oblivion." When Dany raised her eyebrows, he added, "The next city we'll be in is Whiterun and Jarl Balgruuf isn't allied with Stormcloak or Lannister. His guards' only allegiance is to him and to the people of the Whiterun."

"And Markarth?"

"Markarth is Imperial controlled, but once we get there, we'll have more important things to worry about than the soldiers on the streets."

"Such as?"

"The Forsworn." Drogo smiled slightly. "By the time we reach Markarth, I aim to get you an army of your own."


End file.
